With every deliberate thought, I find myself to be self-destructive
Where I should be progressive or productive, I yearn for your memory
Some might assume that this habit is a sign, but the sign’s message seems to be “CAUTION” or “DANGER”
Yet it doesn’t seem pertinent to worry my troubled heart over the sentiments of any stranger
Heavy sighs and idle expressions, the shelter of my bed being my vehicle for this ride of depression
There must be something more than this hollow feeling, a goal or a motivation to press forward
What becomes of a man when he loses his heart, for it would be an absolute waste to let the mind and body lie dormant
Through emptiness and weariness, one may reach a point where they grow tired of being tired
To be tired of being something, then tired of being nothing, and then tired of being incomplete