I reach down into my heart,
Careful not to tear it apart.
Then I discover all the pieces,
There is a feeling that not one teaches.
I always knew that I was broken,
Knowing I could never be ones token.
I want things that few desire,
Things that would make your weak mind tire.
I start to feel all of the stress,
As I watch the constant rise and fall of my chest.
I set a lock upon my mind,
I think of things that even your mind couldn't grind.
I hate the feeling of what I am,
I'm tired of feeling the painful cram.
Sometimes I look in the mirror,
Wishing that the image would disappear.
Is it bad that I think this about myself? Surely it is bad for my health.