you
you are controlling this life of yours
you say it’s ****** up
but you’re the one causing it

drugs, alcohol, smoke
you think that’s gonna make it better?
oh this generation of ours
isn’t gonna last long
if that’s what everyone turns up too
whenever things are down

we
we are killing ourselves
with whatever creation that we think
might make us feel better
but no
it’s just all a disaster

This is why I don't speak
Because every time I open my mouth
Nobody likes it

I guess I just cant express myself well
because everything I say
Gets returned with hatred

I'm tired of people telling me to speak
yet when I do
they don't like it

Maybe I just don't undertand
I'm probably the one at wrong
I just don't get it

I don't know how to form coherent thoughts
even if when people read my writings
they say otherwise

I really don't understand
why so much hatred runs through us
I didn't mean to offend you

I was just happy
because I did something good for once
but I guess its wrong to be happy for one self

This doesn't make sense
like my voice others don't understand
but its the only way to speak without opening my mouth

And there I rejoice
In the depth of the well.
Realizing the way things are.
Are not exactly what they appear.
It takes courage plummeting after the first step.
Content in a excitement disguised as fear.
This was love, one splash at a time.
Then silence.
The center of all knowing.
To think is to create a problem when none exists.
Thus we overcome in stillness.
Satisfied with quenched thirst.
The water rises.
Overcoming fear.
To become selfish means to over indulge.
Desiring more than what the mouth will hold.
I rejoice knowing the center of your heart.
Without expectation of leaving again

You're sorry and it pains you to say.
     You've found solace in other people's pain. Your shoulders were made to bear weight. You've only gotten weaker due to your training of literally everything other than yourself. They can't see your fatigue, after all you're the life of the party. You don't know this, but you're their gravity. You've saved them, and everyone but you can see.
     You are a broken kingpin. You live in what's imaginary. Chess pieces to your command, instead a sacrificed king. You don't dream because that's selfish. You fell in love by circumstance. You don't think you deserve this, you think you're worthless. So do those songs that scream the same sentiment- good thing you're eclectic.
     Intermediate stage of life and you believe you understand the end. Peer into their future, pity their misfortune, manifest your worth in their misguided action.
     "No, you need to do this."
     Show them how. They don't listen. Revert again, lend a hand, upon seeing their inept expressions. You suggest to restart another fictional world you can all escape in. The prophet dictates another prediction: "We'll be here again."