What am I? Who am I?
Questions I always ask.
An existential dread that's more than meets the eye,
with other questions in our opened cask.
I am, and not, nothing.
A teardrop. One of life's plaything.
A kind that everyone trusts in a flash,
Though, I see myself as nothing but a trash.
Is it Self-loathe? Self-deprecation?
An act to start a global manipulation?
A mask to hide the creeping madness?
Your boring truth meets my boring happiness
I don't subvert expectations
And I don't expect expectations
.
I don't fall for pitiful temptation through imaginations.
I am lost, with nothing to go in a lifeless mission.
An end to this sophomore melody
Is a hopeful but bleak poetry.
If I seize myself, knowing I had a friend with me,
The promises laid out to me, then I will never be free.
YOU ARE READING
[Insert Title Here] Volume 100
Randoman anthology book of nothing but different types of stories ranging random and rants and shit post to fantasy and mystery. from the creative minds of trash, me. this book will definitely love you. Credits to @Playful_Cat
![[Insert Title Here] Volume 100](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/181413084-64-k538769.jpg)