Whats the matter with me?
Can anybody see?
Is it the way i think?
Does my brain have a kink?
Or ami just being overdramatic?
Why cant i always be ecstatic?
And why when i am, i get it taken away?
How do i live everyday?
Do i have a passion for drama?
For heartbreak, stupidity, and trauma?
why do i want people to know my life story?
Do i think i'll get fame and glory?
Who would want to listen anyway?
Who is nice enough to tell me i'm brave?
Do i exaggerate?
Is pain a part of my fate?
Should i resist life?
Could i show my parents my knife?
Would they put me on meds?
Do i truely want to be dead?
From home, how far could i run?
Under the moon, stars, clouds, and sun?
Am i brave enough to jump infront of a car?
Could i possibly ever go that far?
Why do i write in questions noone can answer?
Why must i rhyme all the while?
Why do i haunt myself with these thoughts?
Who? What? Huh?
Shut up and pass the green