i can't seem to find, my motivation, my peace of mind. I want to sit at home and do nothing all the time but still I feel the yearn to take my ass outside it took me a long time to realize, my conscience, the voice in my head would be my own demise. and though I know that if I try and try, I can sprout My Wings , i know i can fly, but sometimes I can't help but watch as the day passes me by, and though I know we all let our thoughts intrude sometimes. nobody could understand how malicious the intent is of mine, is there anyone who gets it, who really understands the voice in my head , and if so you think you can tell me the reason , why it's so hard to explain what I'm feeling, explain the irony
why its easier to hate myself,easy to tell myself,that I ain't worth it, ain't worth shit , im wasting my life so throw yourself to the pit, easier than facing shit, nobody likes you, deep down you know it. I'm the only one who would sit through my bullshit I'm the only one who would sit through the fire I claim to spit.
so fuck the Gucci fuck the Prada fuck the Christian Dior. dressing myself with the rags i find on the floor,( you know that's all that im good)4x for and it's not like I have anyone to impress anymore. everyone I love leaves there's a pattern for sure
self aware enough to know my friends arent my friends, theyll stab me in the back the first chance they get, at least they have decency to pretend, like everything is fine,in the end I'm assured
that my dramatics, baggage,too much to endure, problems so heavy I'm sinking through the floor. quick sand,but still not expecting anyones hand, gotta save myself like a real man, sounds like something my pops would have said if he cared to stay, but he's made his bed and if he's listening sorry but it's a little too late cuz I'm teaching myself all the things I need, need to relate to everybody else that grew up with half your parents and to control the hate that grows along the way, yea i know my friends arent my friends, theyll stab me in the back the first chance they get,talk behind my back, whispering I'm back, talking to my exes, honestly believing that Im better off dead , but it's my fault I'm the one who knew they weren't my friends
so fuck the Gucci fuck the Prada fuck the Christian Dior. dressing myself with the rags i find on the floor,( you know that's all that im good)4x for and it's not like I have anyone to impress anymore. everyone I love leaves there's a pattern for sure
WORLDPATTERNZ
