You will never see him cry
You will just assume he tries
He was called smart because of his head.
the boy you thought was alive is dead.

He cloaks himself in broken sleeves,
So everyone that loves him leaves.
They say to never give a poet a pen,
so he stopped writing 'that' note in tense of ten.

He's full of retching pain at heart,
So he turns it into a piece of art.
He sits alone in suffering silence,
but sometimes quiet can turn into violence.

He runs in fire and walks alone
to a journey to a painful throne.
He wished it worked when he pushed away the chair
His demons are in his lungs, he cant breath air.

His heart is beating like a drum,
his thoughts inside, they make him numb.
He lives his life in the dark
yet his love starts a spark.

He hides himself in a blanket
He will end up in a casket.
He lives his life through the sense of today,
As long as his loved ones say they'll stay.

This broken man that you cant see
is me.