I don't have much of a story, Just a few words on a page; A ripple effect, A broken piece of furniture, A poorly painted picture. My solitude is sacred, But I call it peace. I'm a creep, Who's beaten down by life. I battle monsters under my bed, And the ones stuck in my head. But aren't we all lonely? Looking for warmth, Looking for our way back home. Looking for a special someone to call, To call when evil surrounds? The sun might be shinning, But I am running cold, And running out of time. May be I'm too young to know, But can you really get over something? The last of my kind.
