What's this paralysis within me?
I still don’t understand it.
Lack of courage, a voice,
only a hand to write my mind.
These thoughts... Oh these thoughts
ricochet within my skull.
Each a bullet tearing through a once sane mind,
now wounded with insanity.
The day I found it'd never be cured,
is the day my life ended.
A dead flower holding on by its withering root,
these legs are rotten but not to their core.
A solid stream of energy flows
through their center.
This is what keeps my hands and face
from hitting the mud.
When I sing with my mind, soul, hand and pen,
I stand upon two roots made of iron