Want to be recognized for my efforts
trying to beat my depression
It just becomes an excuse for me to be
beating my weapon. Aiming at the times
I wish in my sleep not to wake up alive
I deprive my eyes of sleep, my is heart
is plastic, while in a chest made of steel
Stolen by a soul full of soulful pieces
of art—tormented by the works of his brush

I've never cut myself, but have been cut
by life, taking so many risks
Having been doubted, and not commended
for my wits. Even when I force a smile
life under arms me, and it stinks like pits
In the dark of deep thoughts, so grave to
me digging holes in my head
Reading out the script of conversation in
questionable remarks in error red

Socially unsociable, remarkable of
marking the odds—oddly ode three major parts
Majority of minority, who are trapped by an
unjust authority—they author scripts for you
to sound like a nobody

I want to break away from this scene
and it's every scheme. Not have glasses make
up all of my dreams

In this depressed rhyme,
I hope I've made a point in every line.