If I went to a professional they'd probably say it started when I was younger
Which begs the question why it didn't affect my older brother

Maybe it's just the way my brain is wired
I'm just so ******* sick and tired
Of being so **** sick and tired
Why am I always so ******* tired?

I just go through the motions
All the days just blend together
The only thing keeping me going
Is the hopes that this won't last forever

I can say that I care about a few things
But it'd be only to myself that I feed lies
There's a lot I need to get off my chest
But it's hard when I have to make it rhyme

I don't consider myself a poet
More of an alocoholic with a pen
I get myself into a drunken haze
And spill all the thoughts in my head

You're probably wondering where this is going
And I can't say that I have the answer
I kind of just type away
Until I start to feel a little better.