I have trouble with existing,
as if I lack some proper requisite for insisting to persist.
I feel like just a composite of so many billion molecules.

I have a hard time defining truth.
So many contradictory influences tell me what to do.
I feel I'm better off sleeping straight through every single birthday.

I have never felt just simply okay.
Doubt hits me like a tidal wave.
It takes me away to far-off places,
and I can't say I mind it.