Trapped
This so is stupid,
having to write.
Having to express words on paper
when I can no longer fight..
Thinking stresses me out,
not thinking worries me.
I can't let this misery and pain go,
I can't escape and be free.
I am content with feeling this pain,
it's like a fucking game,
it's insane.
Is it stupid that I'd rather not be in the sun,
but walking around in the rain?
I feel better when I shift the pain
from emotional to physical.
I can't even find peace
in music, the powerful lyricals
that kept me alive for so long.
Once again I find myself
taking hits from this bong.
I'm losing my mind,
going insane.
Can't catch a break,
can't even finish a fucking poem.
Even if I end it all,
my spirit won't go anywhere,
it will eternally roam.
You said you'd always be there,
and I pretend not to care.
I try my best not to let you see me hurting.
This attempt at being artistic,
could be turned into a song.
And all i want is for someone to hear me out,
so come on, shout it out. Sing.
My heart is shattered and bust,
don't even know if that was love or lust.
Don't know who is a friend or enemy.
Don't know who to trust.
Everyone is so fucking 2 faced,
the weed you buy is fucking laced.
By hey, anything for a high, right?
Come on, this will be our great escape.
The self hate has escalated,
can't even respect myself.
Don't wanna deal with anything
so I get intoxicated.
I feel so isolated,
And I let myself believe that getting help is overrated.
I can't let it out anymore,
so I just let everything keep building up.
I'm addicted to feeling this low,
when is enough, finally gunna be enough?
Guess this will go on until the day I die.
I am gunna keep holding everyhting inside.
No one will fucking listen anyway,
people lying, saying they understand.
Bitch please,
you don't understand shit, do you need another clue?
You want the honest truth?
here is it, the only thing I've ever wanted,
is to be dead. Die. Be gone forever.
Thinking I will float up to Heaven like a feather.
But the awful, sad truth is that
I am going to drop like a fucking rock,
striaght to Hell.
I'll scream and yell,
try to repent for all of my sins,
but it will be too late.
And up in Heaven, my Pubba will be watching from the gate.
He will watch me be tortured for my wrong doings,
and lower his head in disappointment and sadness.
I didn't intend for it to happen like this.
Oh Creator, do I need help?
Do I need to be locked away like the other depressed teenagers,
complaining about how life is too hard?
I wish i could walk to Heaven right now,
but it's just too far..
So i keep struggling to find a reason to live everyday,
I try to have hope, try to have faith and prey.
Oh Creator,
give me some wise advice,
what do you have to say?
having to write.
Having to express words on paper
when I can no longer fight..
Thinking stresses me out,
not thinking worries me.
I can't let this misery and pain go,
I can't escape and be free.
I am content with feeling this pain,
it's like a fucking game,
it's insane.
Is it stupid that I'd rather not be in the sun,
but walking around in the rain?
I feel better when I shift the pain
from emotional to physical.
I can't even find peace
in music, the powerful lyricals
that kept me alive for so long.
Once again I find myself
taking hits from this bong.
I'm losing my mind,
going insane.
Can't catch a break,
can't even finish a fucking poem.
Even if I end it all,
my spirit won't go anywhere,
it will eternally roam.
You said you'd always be there,
and I pretend not to care.
I try my best not to let you see me hurting.
This attempt at being artistic,
could be turned into a song.
And all i want is for someone to hear me out,
so come on, shout it out. Sing.
My heart is shattered and bust,
don't even know if that was love or lust.
Don't know who is a friend or enemy.
Don't know who to trust.
Everyone is so fucking 2 faced,
the weed you buy is fucking laced.
By hey, anything for a high, right?
Come on, this will be our great escape.
The self hate has escalated,
can't even respect myself.
Don't wanna deal with anything
so I get intoxicated.
I feel so isolated,
And I let myself believe that getting help is overrated.
I can't let it out anymore,
so I just let everything keep building up.
I'm addicted to feeling this low,
when is enough, finally gunna be enough?
Guess this will go on until the day I die.
I am gunna keep holding everyhting inside.
No one will fucking listen anyway,
people lying, saying they understand.
Bitch please,
you don't understand shit, do you need another clue?
You want the honest truth?
here is it, the only thing I've ever wanted,
is to be dead. Die. Be gone forever.
Thinking I will float up to Heaven like a feather.
But the awful, sad truth is that
I am going to drop like a fucking rock,
striaght to Hell.
I'll scream and yell,
try to repent for all of my sins,
but it will be too late.
And up in Heaven, my Pubba will be watching from the gate.
He will watch me be tortured for my wrong doings,
and lower his head in disappointment and sadness.
I didn't intend for it to happen like this.
Oh Creator, do I need help?
Do I need to be locked away like the other depressed teenagers,
complaining about how life is too hard?
I wish i could walk to Heaven right now,
but it's just too far..
So i keep struggling to find a reason to live everyday,
I try to have hope, try to have faith and prey.
Oh Creator,
give me some wise advice,
what do you have to say?