I'm not quiet.
No, I don't make sense.
I only try to make small recompense.
I can't sleep. Never could sleep.
Not that the racket you keep on helps at all-
But I've still tried counting sheep.

I'm explosive. Corrosive.
I guess I've eaten up all your will and want and love-
again.
But I thought you understood, but then...
I've never been quite right about anyone before.
I just want to be accepted for how I live
Why do you all seem to love who I am until I'm susceptible, and then you want more?