I’ve said this phrase a thousand times. You say it’s a phase - but that’s a lie. A million words - a thousand lines. Nothing said - hell, that’s just fine. I can’t write to save my life. I just hand my pain the pen. I can’t right a single line. I can’t say that this piece is mine. You say that I’m a piece of work? You’re right - how true! Gotta run, but I’ll see you on the next line. I put paper on my mind, you see? It screams and cries on the seams of a whitewashed canvas. It bleeds with the paint of the pain of my searing conscious. I leaves such a stain on a once blank page, I just tear it up, throw it up and fucking watch it reign. These things will rain down on me. Covering my skin, you see? They’ll cover up my sins, you think? My skin colors your enemy? My faith in God is cringeworthy? My only hopes a length of rope? I’ll go get the kitchen chair, You wait right there, pull up a seat. Don’t go nowhere! It’s raining bullets, so to speak! Speak slow. Think fast. Retract, Think about it, Then come back. Speak your mind, friend. Silence is a fiend. Take it slowly. Hurry up and let me know. Just so you know, I really don’t care what you think. I just care about you, friend. I’ve written a million words, yet said nothing… …Isn’t that something? As my heart, my fingers crossed, as I prepare for war. With a smile, I sin and falsely promise I’ll say nothing more.