I'm sad that I disappointed you
I'm sad that I upset you
I'm sad that you don't understand me
I'm sad that you have a new found temper
I'm sad that I still live at home
I'm sad that I'm lonely
I'm sad that I can't talk to women
I'm sad that I'm completely unsure of myself
I'm sad that I'm defensive in the face of criticism
I'm sad that I'm depressed

I'm happy that...

Where do my thoughts go, on days like these?
Searching for something I don’t know how to find
Stumbling over my steps, as if I were blind
Where do my days go, during weeks like these?
Constantly searching for the twinkle in your eyes
Finding nothing, except those words that I despise
Where do the months go, through years like these?
It’s been so long now, I’m not quite sure where to begin
Everyone’s part of this club called happiness, but they won’t let me in
Where do the years go, in the lives we lead?*
Where these things go, it’s no use to wonder
Because I’ve given up now, I think I’m finally through
I’ve spent my eternity searching,
searching for you

It seems almost sad
that the moment in which I am most content
exposes itself only when I am halfway drunk
at 2 a.m.
Alone, and writing.
The silence and darkness are consoling
in a way.
For these two elements are often necessary
for
true
self-indulgence.

There are people out there
so strong, and so self assured
that they do not need the confirmation
of any others.
I strive to be one of them.
Only in vain.

I’m slightly worried
That I may be

Losing
  
                   My

                                  M
                                       I
        
                                            N
              

                                                d.