Vs.

i spend moments like these staring at a notebook with so many blank pages
deep inside me, i'm not sure if it's a revolutionary or civil war that rages
i used to be happy just to be alive, but i'm not sure if that's enough anymore
now i spend my time looking down at the shards of fingernails that cover the floor
small moments of comfort may be as close as the next room
but i still feel detached and as far away as the moon
it's hours and hours after midnight and still sleep doesn't come
even though shadows are chased away by the light of the morning sun
thoughts don't always dissipate like smoke drifts into the sky
i feel like an ostrich or a penguin, i have wings but can not fly
even with small expectations, a path to great disappointment is where it will lead
and with a pocket full of posies and my veins full of poppy seeds
i find everyday life so uncomfortable, so i have no choice but to wave goodbye and leave
because i know everyday can't be Christmas and every night can't be new year's eve
many words i have spoken, but the truth is something i rarely confide
the reality of my life is i'm a real life Jekyll and Hyde
i walked out my front door, everything green called out to me and i heard their cries
almost inanimate, but not quite, taken for granted until the day it dies
most people choose not to listen, so sometimes silence is all there is left to say
by the disappointment in the lack of color and the world is covered in a blanket of gray
the unfolding of these events was not the design of my plans
i don't know where i'm at, because so many times i forgot to be where i am
my thoughts run in circles, so i'm surprised words ever got put on this page
and sometimes i think my flesh and bones are nothing more than a cage
this is a spiritual world, so my body doesn't really matter anymore
i could spend my life wandering this world and never find what i'm looking for
just like my soul, my house has an empty room
so inside i create a chrysalis and wrap my pain in a cocoon
because the anger has no where to go, i've yet to find a way to retaliate
so the metamorphosis continues, and inside a creature is being formed by hate
an ancient creature, that's from a story so old i don't know where to begin
a story whose years outnumber the stars, a story older than the wind
that carry the whispers that tell the truth about our lives
and the breeze that tells also of our fabrications and lies
i see the images of my life and dreams pass by unclothed in front of my eyes
in the reflection in the pool of water that's as old as the battle of I against I
so what do you do, because neither side can win
one wants to do right, the other wants to sin
it's a draw, because neither side can be beat
both sides know you can always regroup after you retreat