Talking is hard.
Words are literally letters of different sounds put together together to make up something. It's that easy but why is it so hard for me?
I got alot of shit going on in my head, when I lay down on my bed it haunts me.
Trapped in the four corners of my own mind I lay and listen to myself sniffle as a tear drop let loose... oh there's another one, and another one running straight down my cheek and now it's a river that soaks my sheet, forfeit the ability to hold it back cause these letters in a box hurts me.
"What's wrong? Speak up! You can talk to me" Sure! Bet! You think I won't if I could?
My insecurities standing at the corner staring at me with a mean smirk on it's face
"What if you say something weird like you always do?"
And now I shut up and smile; it's nothing, I'm fine. How do you do?
Bottled up emotions inside of me spills over on my heart's carpet but there has to be room for more, I can't speak yet.
I'm kidnapped in broad day light by my imaginations and I can't scream for help because of lack of words
Panic attacks render me lifeless like my soul is dangling between two worlds
I die inside a million times and more but I can't tell my bestie what's going on 'cause of these words
It's just so plentiful in my heart yet so scarce in my mouth the irony is funny but killing me slowly.
Can't you just read my mind and see what's written in it?
My mouth can no longer perform the function it was made for; to speak innit?
Oh it does speaks but says the wrong things.
Sometimes I wonder if what I feel is actually real cause how can I not say what is wrong with me?
I'm depressed. Why? I don't even know. Alot of things are going on with me.
What things? I don't know.
Those are words in a sentence, letters in a box, but does it call out for help?
Those letters makes up what passes information but does it call out my issues?
Talking is hard. Even my own mind thinks so.
