Scraps of paper,
Wasted ink.
Used to to express my thoughts,
Because I find it hard to speak.

People tell me,
Keeping it to yourself doesn't help,
You're going to drive yourself to a breaking point.

It's a ******* story they all want to hear,
No one really ****** cares.

I depend on my strength,
I've built a fence,
I tell people things so they don't seek the depth.
I'm a perfect actress,
My makeup never wears,
With a smile and invisible tears.

I hurt for no reason,
I bleed from within,
My heart,
I swear it's in pieces,
Even the melodies can't mend it.

I fear I'm a disturbance,
But an essential one,
When I'm not needed,
I'm an unnoticed painting on a fading wall,
Lonely though surrounded by flies.

People say it'll be fine but I'm done with hope,
I want no company,
For with it my happiness elopes.

Though a few people form that symphony,
And my melodies can't resist them,
But they fade like the harmonies,
That once explored my mind.

Sorry to bore you,
But i ramble when I'm nervous,
And I'm nervous of what you're probably thinking of me.

I have OCD,
It makes me clingy,
It seeks perfection,
I see no trace of it within,
I know nobody's perfect,
But I at least want to be suitable,
Living maybe more than just adequately,
*For myself.