I am nothing but a scared child,
Virgin in the way that I try to
Believe that the world has my
Best interests in mind.
All I'm really doing is
Proving that I really am blind.
If I keep this up much longer
I'm merely using up my
Borrowed time; cashed in
Like stocks and bonds but
Instead, I trade in secrets and
Lies similar in the way that
Each and every day is a
Struggle just to leave my bed.
The confines of a sick mind
Don't go away just because
The world won't slow down,
The panic doesn't ease just
Because you say calm down;
God damn it these voices are
All my own; please just be quiet,
Like right now.
Help means nothing if you're
Merely trying to shut out
What you view as an
Annoyance; this allowance of
Mine, time, it means nothing if
It's spent trapped in my own
Head like the beating heart
Trapped under the floorboards
Beneath your own bed.
And this time I'm trading in just
So that I can say I'm fine
Is no consolation in the end
When my sanity ends up
Loose on a single
Stripped thread.
It's the constant fear eating
Away at my own health,
Not much to do but cry help,
Claiming to see monsters,
Yet I have no proof.
I've not known youth,
Nor sanity;
Neither confidence
Nor vanity.
It's quite simple, really:
The act of living threatens my
Livelihood, and it's
No good really, growing older;
Growing cynical;
Growing colder.
Growing to hate what I am
And what I'm becoming;
Youth is wasted on the young
And living.
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