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I find the mixture of words and phrases an art truly divine,
Most the time I enjoy using rhyme to speak my mind.
Many like to rap about drugs, girls, and money, which is just fine,
But I don't believe messages like those are right for talents like mine.

I was going to take guitar lessons and have some fun,
But instead I signed up for the poetry club,
Took in all they taught me, expression is just one.
Trying as hard as I can, but I'm far from second to none.

I like to write about various subjects, especially how I feel,
And trying to get everyone to realize the problems in this world are real.
People get hurt, and no one comes back after they die.
You want me to say something real? Here it goes: "Hi."

I wake up some mornings feeling like life is completely fake,
Like the walls of reality can be broken down, like a Lego model a child can make.
I get scared and curious, and angry all the same,
Like I play a dumb role in some truly sick game.

Stomp my foot on the concrete floor to be sure it's solid.
I yell in shock as my foot goes through; and then I start falling.
I become engulfed by the darkness of the emptyness,
The emptyness behind this "reality" we live in with such sillyness.

Yeah, you know what? I guess we've been done in,
Someone Higher Up thinks it's funny how much we all sin,
We're alone, we're nothing, we don't matter, there's always been that rumor,
We're just some random Lego creation by some all-powerful entity with a sick sense of humor.

So don't look at me and ask me to make something real.
It doesn't matter, nothing matters, not the world, not how I feel.
I bet many feel that way, and what do a lot of them do?
They whip out a gun and say, "To hell with you."

Because apparently, we're already there.