I hate everything that I have done
Hate to see that I am holding none
Yes I enjoyed yes I did have fun
Parents baked me crisp like a biscuit
and I came out to be a bun


Marijuna.. ahh.. it pushes me to past
Track folded to treadmill, surely will come last
yes marijuana depresses me but here is the deal
making me think that I don’t want to but should feel


Many people have come and more than many have gone
How can I dress well when my soul has torn  


Still few people love me the way I am
Old smelly sour pickle in shinny bottle of jam

This constant pressure is suppressing, shrunk me
forced to change myself, the one I never wanted to be

It has become difficult to distinguish between life and nightmare
Vapourization  of people one by one whom I ever cared

Several times I white have washed the walls of my brains
But can't get rid of these reappearing  stains

The stains of blood   can disappear no way
When I am the one, killing myself every other day.