Today I'm spreading pain from my heart to my body,
even if I my real hope is to disembody,
I still carry on weary and tired,
it's as if life had me fired (by TRUMP),
And yet admired secretly.

I'm a miracle and a mistake,
and I know I can't have my cake and be a fake,
drying my tears by pushing the back into dry eyes,
this way no one hears my cries,
I'm pointless and yet full of purpose, like a puppet.

I don't care when I'm numb,
when I could die by a gun,
when I pretend to smile for a buck,
I feel like I've been hit by a truck.
**Lying can be similar to dying a little bit every day.