selfaware
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I feel angry, but angry doesnt feel me.
Maybe this is more so an illusion.
You spend your time gathering all of those thoughts,
Just to let the positive ones slip into the abyss.
You are not lost.
I laugh at the moon
And all it says
I cry to the sun
And it happens again
It's all a lie
These romaticized gods
It's all gone
All taken by the one
Taken by me
I commit treeson
When people ask me who I am,
I stutter,
because for some reason,
the language of myself is foreign to me.
We could call it a result of bullying, mental illness, or plain teenage mystery.
