The dark room pulls my thoughts out.
The angry, sad, and hurt thoughts.
Why can’t I live a normal life?
Why can’t I accept that I’m alway second best?
I will never be a number one.
I’m not good enough.
And people make me see that.
Quitting looks so **** easy,
But that would be me becoming like everyone else.
Quitting equals death and living equals harder work than anyone.
I wish my someone would see that I’m hurting but they just don’t know how to handle it.
And can I blame them?
I don’t even know how to handle it.