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Senses Fail
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The irony of dying on your birthday
just know
we are
a spec
in time
'so follow your bliss'
and destroy the beauty
ill lock myself alone in a room
drink untill the clock strikes noon
with just a pen a pill and some paper
and mabey i will write a sad song
or another cliche poem
of the person that i long to be
i wanna die like jim morrison
a f***ing rockstar
i wanna die like god on the cover of time
just a blink and its gone
so baby pour some fame in my glass
so kill the forest
and destroy the beauty
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ill lock myself alone in a room
drink untill the clock strikes noon
with just a pen a pill and some paper
and mabey i will write a sad song
or another cliche poem
of the person that i long to be
'colors blind
the eyes'
'sounds deafen
the ears'
'flavours numb
the taste'
'thoughts weaken
the mind'
and ill atack someone with a switchblade knife so that i can feel their pain i choose to be a serial killer cuz the victems dont get any fame
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