straight from hell
up and make a good attempt at lasting more than just a season.
pleasing me is oddly easy, but inside my head is hell.
if i tell you anything, just know that it came straight from a well.
ask me if i want to sell my soul and i will burst
into tears, but my ears would love to hear that i'm the first
and maybe the last, but time is never going fast,
when i live inside a poem that i wrote about the past.
i love to alter my awareness with a substance; when it's over,
actually, when i am on one, i wish i was sober.
this is one of many contradictions i live by.
my poems may be art, but my life is but a lie.
Luka.
Maybe go out into the and take a breath of fresh air? That might create some clarity in your mind :-)