How is one to make a life,
If they can’t make themselves,
Always trying to build people,
But not building up their self,

Give, give it all, Give more.
But you can’t be sure when,
You get things so the balance,
Can be restored.

Endless cycle of small happiness ending in,
constant dwelling dread,
It's hard to find your meaning,
when you are lost inside your own head.

Exit here, no is it there?
I don’t know I can’t see anymore.
I gave so much that my body,
has no eyes anymore.

Stop yelling at me I don’t know what I feel,
I don’t remember anything I do,
I’m afraid that one day I’ll wake up,
And realize everything I thought was real…
was just the gold of a fool….

I’m crazy, I’m Psychotic.
No one really feels the way I do.
Anyone who says they do,
Will just hurt me like they always do.

Or am I just hurting myself… Self loss.
Self harm… No… It can’t be.
If that was the case people would sound alarms.
I hear no bells. I hear no tell of someone knowing somethings wrong.

then again its hard to hear with these thoughts,
And the feeling you don’t belong.