So here we stand as ourselves, lined across the wall as a mosaic of books and the world is full of shelves. Though one day a page tore and a troubled poet came about, won't care if he makes you cry or smile. He just wants you to know hes here for more than a while.

Back and forth between Jim and the bean, if I told my life through film it would be a gross movie. So every ten minutes would be an obscene scene, wishing it all were just a dream. Every night full of tears but hes made it through so beat this Mr.nightmare give me another thing to fear.

Explode with a verse and slowly deluding the rhyme, as it goes along it gets worst. Progress is the only thing that can stop him, the monster always hiding under the sheet now realizes its his turn to get a life. Here I am with a poem that doesn't have a beat. The lost poet found his way, poetry seems to be the only way he can stay.