I like to read
I like the rain
I don’t like myself, but that’s ok.
I like bed rotting with no thoughts,
I like dark nights, am I insane.
You say I’m depressed, but I say I’m just stressed.
Am I like a pest to you,
constantly nagging your life to?
I know you don’t like me,
at least not like I like knives.
I overthink and I overreact,
I scream to myself and wonder if you notice my act.
But it’s all ok because I like other things too.
I like to read
I like the rain
I like myself, and I’m ok.
I like my thoughts
I like bright days,
I promise I’m not insane.