It’s Me

It’s my anxiety, my reactivity, my everything, that’s killing me.

Someone’s got to help,

understand how I felt,

pray for my mental health,

and wish me everything well.

 

I have no time,

nor do I have pride.

No one by my side,

to justify.

 

I’m all alone,

cold and no home,

profile so low,

that no one knows.

 

All the noises I’m hearing,

all the voices are commanding,

and I’m still here deciding,

which path I’ll be taking.

 

Are the stars talking to me?

Or are they looking at me?

Or maybe they’re just simply ignoring me,

not giving a single care about me.

 

The society’s cruel,

killing children with reality.

Guardian’s pressuring, teacher’s lecturing,

friend’s unidentified, 

living a miserable life,

slowly eating away,

the pure soul that we once had.

 

Reality seemed to hate me,

yanking me by the collar,

tearing me away from my dreams,

crushing it right before my eyes,

forcing me not to cry,

telling me to live my life,

inconsistently filled with lies.

 

Not every sacrifice can change a life.

Not every fantasy can turn alive.

Not every storybook could change the lie,

into anyway we like.

 

I want to die,

maybe never coming alive.

 

Let me stay as a spirit,

so that I can heal the souls,

that once again had reached their limits.

What are you looking for?