I got this help,
I got this entity more powerful than myself,
I got this never-resting, ever-blessing presence that I've been dealt,
It's like a spell,
When harnessed anything but harmless I can tell,
But when the reigns slip from my hands I feel it turning on myself,
Yeah just like that,
Fighting with the facts and the feelings,
I try to pull back and conceal it but its only more I'm revealing,
Can't stand it, some days I'm kneeling,
Some days I'm needing a heel,
Some days I got to wonder if the voices that I'm hearing are real,
Protagonist-Antagonistic relationship with this aura,
Soar above the clouds right before you're fucking struck to the floor again,
Wanting more again, damn
Can't seem to make up my mind,
My mind is constantly testing what I am made of inside, Why, Why
Is this the cost to have a gift with no price, Why, Why
Do I feel lost when taking my own advice, Try, Try
Just to focus, not on hopelessness but the goal,
And wishing crossing the bridges will bring back some of the toll,
I know, I know,
I don't know much of anything,
Except I got this monster-like, out of consciousness gathering,
Of everything that I've felt or seen, or internally manifested,
It's infected my soul and forced my hand to become invested,
In myself.

Do I hate it? Do I love it? Does it love me back?
Does it scare me? Does it thrill me? Will it kill me?
When will it defend? When will it attack?
Is it under control or am I overmatched?
Quarter Life Crisis

From the beginning of my days I have been shadowed by the spirit,
Not following too close, but I do know it moves near enough to hear it,
Always,
Got the good and the bad but it's all strange,
Take credit for letting it call plays, but it's all in vain,
If I medicate watch it fall away,
So I gravitate to be called crazed in a tall space like on holidays,
Cause I'm so high,
Loving that part man I won't lie, yeah I'm all blazed,
And that may help in the meanwhile,
I maintain such a mean style,
I'm in denial about this state of mind,
My rate of time on a speed dial,
My freestyle,
I'm writing it down but dishing it out to anyone down, with a real smile,
But looking around I'm invisible now, and thinking about how that's real wild,
Or is it a probable outcome?
The dark of the mind showing the light on the delicate sight of my problems,
What I call them, yeah
Two destinations,
Crippled by the conflict or the greatest in at least the nation,
One choice made,
Do it til' I'm done or til' the reaper makes my voice fade,
I turned a quarter cent,
I want to be a beast,
That's a tall feat for such a shorter gent,
Is what it said, within my puzzled head,
Never alone when I'm alone, I got a troubled friend,
Seperate identities,
One is meant to please,
One is keeping humility,
With frequent futility on my abilities,
Homies you feeling me?
Nothing else to do but go another 25,
I'm still alive,
I'm filled with phantom forces fucking with a frantic mind.

Do I hate it? Do I love it? Does it love me back?
Does it scare me? Does it thrill me? Will it kill me?
When will it defend? When will it attack?
Is it under control or am I overmatched?
Quarter Life Crisis