There will be no silence 
There will be no rest
No word or action
Will be enough.
The way you feel
Was it really that way?
Or is that just how you
choose to remember it?
Hating every moment
The past is pretend.
You will never be understood
There is no cure-all 
You make yourself suffer
And struggle under the
Pressure of your own thumb.
Impossible, but you make it so
With your need to be different
Need to create pain in your life
Everyone offered you their hand
You refuse to grasp; to accept
Still you beg for it in your dreams
You poke holes in the paper cup
So you can watch it drain 
As you watch yourself drain 
Fade, Disappear, and Die.