Maybe these feelings are more like despair.
But I guess it’s true that no one truly cares.
I want to feel the blade on my skin.
Let it run red and let the sadness win.
What do I have left in this hell ride I call life?
All I ever feel is mostly only strife.
So I guess I’ll spend my time alone with the moon.
It’s only a matter of time until the doom consumes.
I feel haunted or like a burden in every single room.
The noose would be better than this life of tormented doom.