My Glass House

While I sit alone in this room I've got crates full of sorrow
Even more filled with shadows
That I fish out and ridicule when I'm felling lonely

I'm lacking sense, but bound in a very specific direction
It's phenomenal and unprecedented
It's a chip of the old block and a step up the new ladder

Mr. Scribe, I write to you pen and penchant
Aimed to pour over a fool left with no more rhymes
I'm poetically franchised

I'm in charge for the day in terminal wanderlust
I've excited my worst thoughts exorcised what was lost
Am I a bad seed sprouting up or am I not?

I'm sure what sad is
But listless I'm not my lists are never ending
And my emotions aren't store-bought
And tears, they either deceive or endure me
I'm your little golden nugget collecting dust
Bored with my own stale and directed thoughts
In a place where so much life and loves abound
It's amazing how little tempts me from my glass house