If I went to a professional they'd probably say it started when I was younger Which begs the question why it didn't affect my older brother
Maybe it's just the way my brain is wired I'm just so ******* sick and tired Of being so **** sick and tired Why am I always so ******* tired?
I just go through the motions All the days just blend together The only thing keeping me going Is the hopes that this won't last forever
I can say that I care about a few things But it'd be only to myself that I feed lies There's a lot I need to get off my chest But it's hard when I have to make it rhyme
I don't consider myself a poet More of an alocoholic with a pen I get myself into a drunken haze And spill all the thoughts in my head
You're probably wondering where this is going And I can't say that I have the answer I kind of just type away Until I start to feel a little better.
