They can't tell what's wrong with you from the outside. They can't tell what's wrong with you from the outside. They can't tell what's wrong with you.
Is my illness truly invisible?
Or am I just deluding myself again?
My thoughts are racing, falling, tumbling,
maybe their right to call me insane.
Don't ask me to speak because I don't want to;
words don't mean a thing any more
Instead I write and write onto sheets of white
into the abyss my heart is poured.
I hear their screams in my head all the time
a pleading in my ear,
I'm the one who's living this hell
so why is it me you fear?
I carry on breathing everyday
despite the creatures living inside
and I will keep living in every way
until one day I don't even cry.
Aug 31, 2015
Aug 31, 2015 at 4:01 PM UTC
They can't tell what's wrong with you from the outside. They can't tell what's wrong with you from the outside. They can't tell what's wrong with you.
Is my illness truly invisible?
Or am I just deluding myself again?
My thoughts are racing, falling, tumbling,
maybe their right to call me insane.
Don't ask me to speak because I don't want to;
words don't mean a thing any more
Instead I write and write onto sheets of white
into the abyss my heart is poured.
I hear their screams in my head all the time
a pleading in my ear,
I'm the one who's living this hell
so why is it me you fear?
I carry on breathing everyday
despite the creatures living inside
and I will keep living in every way
until one day I don't even cry.
