Just because I have air in my lungs does not mean I am alive
Mere existence, nothing more
My eyes reflect what's underneath, I am dead
No amount of fire could make this heart of mine come alive
My head aches
My hopes... Old
Dreams... Frail
And yet I still hold on

Shedding parts of myself in the hope of being someone other than who I am..what I am... If I am someone or something at all

The hand that I have been dealt is the toughest of them all
Some breeze through life
I don't...
Did I have a choice?
Predisposed to be disordered
I didn't have a choice

My head is infested with relentless demons I did not create
They are running the show
They keep multiplying
I can't do this anymore
I have tipped over the edge
I am falling down into nothing