Boiling Point

I'm an angry young man with no home, no dad
No sweet words of hope, speaking of a different life
Where things go right

Nights on a silent phone
Like I need to hear my thoughts
I go from place to place with the music loud to get away from those monsters
Everyone should know ghosts haunt your mind
Behind your eyelids
Where things get dark

Darker than she thought
So I don't express how I ever feel
Cause she can't even handle the abyss

Life is in color
Splashes of rage red
Connected to passion
And innocent white
Where my actions exist
Throw in black to contradict, thus creating the absence of all that

Boil boil, little human pot of toil and trouble
Get away to that weekend where you have time to escape
You're know Superman nor Spidey
And damn sure no saint
Your heroes aren't real
Why?
The best things I've seen were all fake

Maniac maniac,
This is where you tell the truth
All out in the open
Like being that baby boy escaping the coffin called the womb

Later Days, Longer Nights

The True Value of A Dollar

In a dollar there is

4 quarters
10 dimes
20 nickles
100 pennies

Any combination of figures from .01 cents to .99 is yours to make and yours to break.

The true value of a dollar lies in its singular pieces.
This one bill can do some things, but not all.
The more you gather up, the more options you have to affect your life, among others.

You can change the world with money, even a dollar, and that truth alone is utterly disgusting.

You can buy your mum a new house
Pay to have someone killed
And even lose all the money you have and become a derelict

And I don't think the masses find this odd.
It all starts with a dollar, no matter how much you gain.
It all starts with one dollar.

Later Days, Longer Nights

Greatness

Later Days, Longer Nights