Point Less

The most valuable lives the ones ironically lived free, I'll see you in the after life unless Heaven comes with a posture fee. I know you hear my voice calling from thousands of miles away, even if these thoughts are packed with enough emotion to drive up a wall I know they'll be left astray. Unsure of how I'll shore up the gaps of the holes in my feelings, till then I'll pick at the wounds in my elbow until I feel the air in my eyes peeling Fittingly, just like you my head and heart separated, unto you this song is dedicated. Bitching about trauma seems pointless, so my fingers I point less, but I can't deny that the things I saw leave my mind in a state of constant stress or that I feel my toughness has been put to the most unnecessary of tests. Sometimes craziness makes our action justified but I say that our maniacal tendencies must be repressed or we will take someone's raw future and leave it fried But I'm not perfect are these words even worthy of expression, when expression can't even express my obsession with depression. The words don't leave my lips they projectile vomit, spraying like an AK at 45 miles per hour but the velocity at which they hit you make it impossible to time it. Expressing this message the only thing that makes me feel competent, I'm confident that I'm writing an appropriate heartfelt letter to my confidant