How is living so endlessly hard, like drinking and eating for this body I guard.
It feels like I'm always doing something to survive, while never truly feeling alive.
This burden called life is dragging me down, while I wear my agony like an elegant gown.
With the tiara atop my head made from my sorrow, but jeweled with peace from my friends that I borrow.
I am clothed with the things I have survived, and I lack the accessories in which I've been deprived.
My pain written across my body, all the loss and distain in which I embody.
Living like this is impossible tiring, so much I've now thought of promptly retiring.