For once in my life before I die I want to be heard
I can not really distinguish what I am doing
Am I chasing my dreams perhaps I'm after the fear of not being able to make them come true?
I want to be cared for but im sick of it always being the people that have nothing to do with me to be the ones who care.
They'd make me a monster and complain.
Saying they wanna fix whatever the hell they think is wrong with me but grief is the mother language of all my writings
I don't ever want to change my mind nor trade it for some sanity
My mouth is flaming hot and my mind is a river overflowing
Thus the river in my mind extinguishs The fire of my mouth by putting words down rather than out.

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