My fortitude is formed with the force of Brutus' crooked dagger in my back,
These fictional factualities ferment my mentality and thats a fact,
However I refuse to forfeit,
For I am fighting external forces with this existential forklift,
Uplifting my energy, channeling my inner G ,
When I step I centipede then with this the pen I bleed,
Think it's all a process of auto-biology,
I'm always overthinking- in need of an auto-lobotomy,
I'm the hero and the villian in my autobiography,
So its a automatic mutiny for this auto-autonomy,
It's self righteous how felt this self fight us,
It's shelf life is kelp like but felt like years ,
They say that legends never die,
Oh this lonely hell of mine,
The look of death ever present on my absent mind,
Long-winded, but these spurts of happiness are short-lived,
**** bingeing , cups overflowing with beer,
My thoughts Tinted, heavy drinking till I'm light-headed,
I don't eat or get sleep ,
Steady thinking, "where's my life headed??"
Need to stop running my mouth,
Too busy tryin to exercise these demons,
I keep pushing my luck, and im exhausted from this heaving,
Heavy breathing , and sold separately are these hellish hiccups,
My nightmare begind every mornin when I sit up...