I can feel the pain eating me.
I hold on, and it makes me free.
Physical pain isn't the problem,
It's not knowing a lot of people don't care about me,
It's just worry they don't care about themselves.
Agony is eating a small sheath of macabre reminiscence in my frontal lobe.
I was bred, formulated, to care about others. I can't do my job without the right tools.
But by the by, everyone still takes me for a worthless, demeaning fool.
I'll show them.
I'll show you, invisible scum tagged 'depression'
I WONT LET YOU HURT MY LOVED ONES ANYMORE, YOU SICKENING POCKET OF PUSS
