šhôwš

Why should I stay alive?
Every night those demons in my mind commit impulsive crimes. 
You feel alone and nobody comes to your show, but the same old friends that you don't know. 
They don't have faces and they speak so slow. 
They tell you to sit back and watch the dismal lights glow.
They come in many forms, sometimes it's just him. 
And they throw you red flowers that have been made by the arm you have skinned. 
You find yourself alone and he comes back again, disguising himself into other friends. 
He is the man you see when the curtain drops; and the stage is all black. 
He's the one that has a grin on his face, all the way in the back. 
You rely on him for company even though you've never met. 
But he's the only one that's made you feel something; fret. 
So I ask myself if I should die; 
And the answer is no. 
And it's only because he said he enjoys the calamity show.