I'm very tired And it's very late at night My thoughts keep me up It's getting harder to fight
I think about my failures And everything I've done wrong How I **** everything up It's all a familiar song
My words are getting literal I can't disguise my guilt The hatred for myself In every direction it's built
Well rhyming gets so hard When I try to write my mind Because I'm unable to find the words That could shed light
Even without a rhyme or a rhythm I find it hard to articulate these dangerous thoughts I have. As many writers do, we have this sense of frustration because no combination of syllables can really portray the emptiness and sadness that lives in us. Styron called it "melancholia", but not even that will suffice.