I sit close to midnight, writing these words
Its not as pretty as a guitar, playing with chords
I was so happy before, perfect personality and grades
My mind feels like a cemetery, full of graves.
Each one of them being pieces of the kind
That were now left behind right in this deep state of my mind
I beg not to get influenced by them again
It's hurting my head, hurting my brain
I'm convinced by the fact that something's wrong with me
"Oh it's normal to be like that", you're not understanding.
I might be so dramatic by writing these poems
But at this point it's the only way my mind can cope with them.
Cope with those feelings,
Cope with those memories
Cope with those people who still have not let me free
Of this pain,
This headache
This sensation of me being pulled 6 feet under
It's not me anymore, is it?
Please tell me it's not...
