I’m sad because I have no place to call home.
Sad because time is slipping out of my hands.
Sad because I feel no satisfaction.
At least, not like before.
I cry because it hurts.
Hurts being alive; hurts getting old.
I don’t recognize what I see.
I don’t know myself anymore.
I became a manufactured idiot.
When I tried so hard to not be.
I lost sense of passion.
Because I thought solely on the money.
I was never good at competition.
I was never competitive.
Maybe that’s why I’m a misfit; I don’t belong.
I don’t like feeling sad.
I’ve grown used to disappointment.
I’ve grown used to self punishment and self harm.
To headaches caused by insomnia and excessive crying.
My brain loses oxygen as people around me find the need to be alive.
Find the need to survive.
It’s a routine.
What’s the point of that?
Why can’t I be happy like everyone else? Why can’t I be like them?
Why do I have to think of fucked up things?
Why are all my idols dead.
I don’t see it the same anymore.
I’m not happy to see it anymore.
Colors aren’t vibrant.
They’re not like before.