I’m much more of a troubled soul than I let on
Feels like every third inch of me is a vulnerability
That permeate through every fibre of my makeup
Harrowing thoughts and all that
Confusion, though, takes the throne
Clueless confusion ravages my soul
One I cannot quite put my fingers on
I feel as though I don’t belong
Belong where? I can’t say
I can’t say why I harbour this feeling either
And that certainly is the killer
Inability to correctly identify the problem
I’m angry and tired most of the time
I fear it’ll all culminate in unbearable frustrations
Conspicuous sorrow that my face will bear
One that begs questions from people around
Or even worse, push ‘em away
It’s a sense of emptiness, hollowness, and confusion.
Confusion, yeah, that takes the throne.