Why am I the only shadow that finds wrong?
Why do my lyrics always form a sad song?
It disgusts me.
How numb I act,
So icy and black
Silver without the shimmer
No majesty. all grey.
Not even a glimmer
With the courtesy to stay
Unless I'm the one who forces it away.
I know what I fear.
It's to bask in that falling glory.
I silently have convulsions
When I hear that rehearsed,
Depressing story.
I hope my voice has not lost sincerity.
My sickness better not fucking exist
Because I believe to be in poverty.
I'm asked why I despair.
Why I always write on paper with tears.
Leave me the fucking hell alone!
Then I rack my mind.
The answer waits unfound;
Eternally resonating on an empty sound.
If it's nonexistent..
If this is for attention.
I beg of you to kill me now.
That cannot be my reason
Or why I pray for God.
I'm not a joyous demon,
As shallow as Satan's love.
Maybe it's the little things
That always build.
(But how cliché!)
Slowly, aloe chokes from massing silt.
But, living in an oasis?
How can I be so displeased as to slit?
This unbelievable reality truly disturbs.
This lack of completion overwhelmingly perturbs.
Are the roots of surrounding plants
Stealing away nutrients?
It can't be.
That's disgusting.
Life and oneness is embedded.
The plant is anything but threaded.
This is reaching levels so cataclysmic.
Intense, heated descent of ignorance.
Fear that there was no life to begin with.
Anxiously agonizing over the day,
If it's created,
When I become you.