12-15-2019, 09:15 PM | #1 |
Junior Member
Join Date: Jul 2019
Posts: 2
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Split thoughts
You’re the rancid blight from damaged nights, you’re cancer’s type, But whatever man it’s not my life.
I’m already up till the crack of dawn, thoughts over-packed and over drawn, my first friend’s dead and the others gone and my only hope is that I’m wrong But my inner system, intuition, takes intermission between hymns and missives that only fuel my indecision Till I’m alone and insignificant Yet I’m the nicest person you’ll ever meet, from the white suburbs or the war torn streets, im the white black sheep, overly meek, cause inner strength comes off as weak I’m so dopamine deprived that jerking off is just a high, socially Im bruising, breaking bones and I don’t know why, I’m 6 bars down the ladder about to jump so I can die. I can’t even be myself, I’m not me I’m just the mask I picked up off the shelf, and when the day ends there’s just nothing left, inside I’m just hollow, the broken man afraid to call home, the wreckage towed, years later with nothing to show. I’m alone, depressed, anxiety wracked and a mess, I’m nothing, but that’s what you’d expect I’ve been ripped to shreds, left for dead, broken, beat, fucked up in the head, maybe I’m stronger, maybe not, but I’ve lasted longer so where’s the props, I’m so far gone I’ve missed my stop It’s 2am, I’m out of paper, the ink has dried I’m not a savior, I’m nothing more, you’re nothing less, life is short not a fucking test |
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