Is it too late,
To run away from the chaos
In my head.
To a place more quite
Where solitude dwells
In a house of gold;
It does not glitter
But sings the songs of a nightingale.

My father often told me,
Growth is where
The thoughts in my mind
Fly higher, exploring greater skies.
Yet here I am looking down,
At myself and wondering,
Day drinking in my sorrows
Awaiting the strike of five o clock.

My therapist is
My only hope who can force out
The anxiety and stress.
People always tell me
"I'm no good"
My failures have proven no better.

I guess I tried,
To pot sunflowers too close.
But I think there is hope
Hiding in my heart
Waiting to pump out the toxic people.

Because a solitary sunflower,
Grows taller and stronger,
Towards the sun.