I have too much empathy for others,
But I just hate myself.
I like to hide myself underneath covers,
It's comfort in itself.
I do things without putting my heart into it,
Eating, sleeping, working through.
I just feel like a social misfit,
I feel like an item that is due.
I feel everything and nothing,
A storm within, a void unspoken.
With everything, life and sin,
And Silience, where my soul is broken.
I want to do everything and nothing at all,
I don't feel normal,
I don't just want to break and fall,
It all feels awful.
