Yet nothings wrong at the same time yet im pumping fright/
Something light on the shoulders yet it weighs a ton/
Tryna put a finger on it but i cant seem to place the one/
My days are done, it's seeming i've lived my life/
But im only 23 years old, how can i say it right/
May the price of the life i live be too much for my budget/
Stuck with melacholy and depression like im seeming to love it/
Fukk it, my soul seems beaten torn weatherd n bruised/
Better to loose then to not try, slow to teather a noose/
Better to choose my own fate then let the others decide/
Butterin lies, to keep the souls around, witnessed to their shuttering eyes/
Mothering tries, from helpful souls but their failed attempts/
But tries nonetheless, and from the chest is where the help decends/
O well, it ends when it ends, if not now then its soon/
And untill that day happens i'll still be found in this room/
[ Post made via Windows Smartphone ]
