I'm two sides of being psychotic and iconic,
But right I'm in between being ironic
Lasting sickening thoughts that feel quite chronic,
With so many voices in my head I yell out, "stop it"
The shy guy who chokes on his words, that feels like *****
And still chasing dreams, with a constant anxiety that's so hard to run from it
While my moods switch up so quick, like a liar trying to switch a topic
A subject to excersing my self torture,
Searching himself; as a piece of myself, I might of lost it
With every bone to pick with the skeletons nicely packed in my closet

But in the end I have to remind myself,
"hey, you're pretty awesome"