There comes a time in every life to question one's own usefulness, you lay in the sand and stare at the stars at the party on the bay.
You clench the muscles in your eye and try to hold the tears inside as plastic from the folding chair strongly grips your skin.

It's odd to me you look alone surrounded by the one's that love, the man before me drowning in a pool of his own tears.
Somehow I can understand the pain inside this vessel you use; these thoughts were my thoughts so many years ago.

You've locked your self away inside the darkest corner of your mind, and everyday you see the warped and twisted ends of time.
Unravel into the abyss that we all call humankind what the hell is so kind about humans anyway?

The emptiness the fills your mind 's' been building up for quite some time, and leaving nothing good behind as lightning bugs fly by.
Are we doomed to spend our life's in desperate search of something else? What life is life when you can not obtain that which you need to live?

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