I Was Never Perfect,

I Have My Own Problems,

My Own Personal Addictions.

But Never Would I Leave The Loved

For My Selfish Convictions.



Inflictions Are What Stops Us,

We Ignore The Simple Truth,

That There Are Certain Things That Hurt,

But Can Never Heal Like Scars Do.



There Are Gaps That Shatter

Our Purpose Of Feeling.

They Are Stars That Search For Every Meaning, A Puzzle Never To Be Adjoined.

They Are Our Scars, Our Beautiful Weakness,

They Are Our Very Own Pressure Points.



They Say That Once You Rip

The Wings From A Dove,

It Has No Desire, No Emotion To Love.

But If You Rip The Wings From Me,

I’ll Climb The Tallest Most Dangerous Tree,

And If I Am To Never Fly, At Least I’ll Fall To Finally Be Free.



No It Is Not My Desire To Die,

I Wish To Only Stay True To Me,

And If I My Dreams Are To Truly Fly,

Then My Death Is The Way It Has To Be.



You See, Death Is Something I Understand,

It Doesn't Matter How You Play Your Hand,

Death Comes To All Living Things,

The Point Is To Think, What Your Death May Bring.



When I Die,

I Wish To Be Known As The Hopeless Romantic, Not Just Some Guy Who Became Way Too Demanding.

I Wish To Be Known For The Love That I Had,

Not A Troubled Kid Between The Good And The Bad.

I Wish To Be Known As The Guy That Everybody Loved, Not The Lazy Loser Who Forgot Who He Was.



But I Know Now, That That May Never Be,

Because No One Will Ever See Me, Like I See.

So I’ll Rip My Wings Off Now, As My Scream Will Not Be Heard,

I’ll Dine With My Lonesome,

As I Become What The World Deserves,

The Boy Who Lost His Only Love And Became The Last And Only Flightless Bird.