E.M.D.R.

My mind is a graveyard for unpursued ideas
My heart is a bonfire for burnt and fallen dreams
The pessimist, misanthropist, a troubled kid in cynic's bliss
Everyday another trial

The bed I made to contemplate, the paths I let deteriorate
The wishful thoughts I oft negate, now seldom wade through my self-hate

We make our beds to burn in, and so few of us pull through

I am the beast of my own burden, and my knees are giving in
A self-inflicted wound of spirit
The book I never wrote, cause the story had been told
My eyes follow the pen, I tell it all again

So give me your pity, your guilt and remorse
I'll shoot them all down, and still ask for more

The bed I made to contemplate, the paths I let deteriorate
The wishful thoughts I oft negate, now seldom wade through my self-hate