I wrote this as the death of Chester Bennington...
You think it's funny, you think its a game, but...
My pen is filled with so many tears,
the paper is beginning to look like...
A bright fluorescent gleam in thine own eyes,
Beneath the sphere of fire so high above...
Every time, ignoring the loveliest heart of father...
Poets and Saints have only praised the mother...
Pictures fading in their frames
Smiling faces now up in flames...
She was eighty something
and I was barely eighteen...
Daddy why do you hate me?you hate me like am not...
These nights drag on with not much sleep,
Laying awake thanks to that awful dream...
You move closer
Needle in hand...
It's always dark inside this room called my heart.
And it works in the weirdest ways...
You tell me I can trust you
and you won't let me down...
Pretend I'm not slipping,
I don't know my warning signs...