Worth, Value, Cost.
The cost of existing, Feels so high.
I lack the ability to function happily in this society.
I cant really “pay my way”, trained in creation, skilled in feeling.
I compose I produce, I bleed internally, still no-one is hearing me.
My art is everything, I am nothing.
Screaming and crying, don’t you see I’m dying.
Dying to feel worth the space, my brokenness wastes.
What if theres no way out, what if this is it?
I live, I lose, I replay my past self, my past life, while I eternally Fade away
We all know, I’m not okay
I can tell, you lack, the words to say.
I sense that you want me to be over this,
I feel like your, sick of this me, you want the old me back.
Friend I hate to inform you, that I agree.
Yet it seems, he’s dead and your stuck with me, I’m so very sorry