They tell me, they promise me, I'm not alone
But I can only go by what I've always been shown
Unwanted, undesirable, freek show, just a small sample of all I've known
I wish my inner abuser would adapt another tone
I don't own my own thoughts, any positive feeling is only on loan

People act like I hone in on this curse to be worthless
Like I thirst to be anxious
Like I have to coerce this anger and bitterness
Like I enjoy being immersed in the hopeless
Like my first thought is the worst on purpose
Like I enjoy all my deep rooted issues constantly rising to the surface

Then comes the question that brings me back to reality
"What are you doing to get control of this? Not enough certainly"
Honestly that's another cog in the circle mosh pit of misery, part of the continuity
I'd give anything for it to be as easy as everyone claims it should be

Because what most people see from me is rehearsed
My final diagnosis can not be reversed
The totality of my issues couldn't possibly be unearthed
But that doesn't change the horrible landscape I've traversed
I wouldn't be able to tell you what I'm worth, all I know is...
...I am this, for what it's worth

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