"I'm a writer based in Los Angeles, California. My constant feeling of 'Sad Tired' motivates my Satire."
Is this what you call living? When you're only good for breathing. The sensation of not being able to function. Hoping for a medicine to induce sleep. So is this what you consider love? With no desire to say "I do". Patient for an answer you already know, But you won't admit it to you.
Is this what you call content? Though you're planning your death, You know you'll be gone for good. Acknowledge that you're easy to forgive. How could you be so claustrophobic, When it's all inside of your head? It's what is making you feel this way. If only that was easy to forget.
Well this is what I'm composed of. The only concoction I ever knew. At least when I relapse. All of this will reset too.