The uncertainty of being
The duality of living and surviving.
The guilt I feel.
The hate I have inside my heart
Towards myself.
Bereft, I've come,
Of the one I thought I'd be.
The dreams are gone, they left one day,
They ran away cause I'm insane.
Inside my own head,
I think it's there.
Does anyone see it ? The infected hole,
That I have for brain ?
How can they say they like me ?
Haven't they seen my brain ?
