Life, the very force of my existence, pulls me from slumber.
I can offer no resistance to its nagging persistence.
I sigh, bleary eyed and dismayed
Instantly I realise that I’m still here for at least another miserable day.
I stumble out of bed and feel the throb in my head
Last night’s indulgence
Sometimes I wish I was dead
I feel the call of nature, but choose to ignore and got to the kitchen instead.
The coffee I make tastes bitter and I want to throw up
But I withstand the nausea and make another cup.
I reach for my cigarettes and light one up
As I take a few puffs, I feel my body sway
I take one last puff, and then throw it away.
I rush to the bathroom, for the need can’t wait.
What is it about my life?
What is it I hate?
When all is done, I look in the mirror and stare at my face
And admonish myself for being a fucking waste of space.
I run a cold shower to try and rid my self loathing
Then go to the spare room and look for some clothing
“When did this start?” I ask myself
“Am I too proud to ask for help?”
People don’t care, they’ll just point and they’ll stare.
I just need some kindness, not apathy and blindness
Did I ask to be born?
Did I ask for this torture?
I need love not scorn.
No, but if many could see what goes on in my brain
I’d lose many friends, as they’d deem me insane.
Why is this disease such a taboo?
No one knows the pain I go through..
The blank that I feel is a soulless void
In this Godless state I feel paranoid.
I wish my soul would burst from my skin
Finally give me peace and mercy within
Grant Harbison.
I can offer no resistance to its nagging persistence.
I sigh, bleary eyed and dismayed
Instantly I realise that I’m still here for at least another miserable day.
I stumble out of bed and feel the throb in my head
Last night’s indulgence
Sometimes I wish I was dead
I feel the call of nature, but choose to ignore and got to the kitchen instead.
The coffee I make tastes bitter and I want to throw up
But I withstand the nausea and make another cup.
I reach for my cigarettes and light one up
As I take a few puffs, I feel my body sway
I take one last puff, and then throw it away.
I rush to the bathroom, for the need can’t wait.
What is it about my life?
What is it I hate?
When all is done, I look in the mirror and stare at my face
And admonish myself for being a fucking waste of space.
I run a cold shower to try and rid my self loathing
Then go to the spare room and look for some clothing
“When did this start?” I ask myself
“Am I too proud to ask for help?”
People don’t care, they’ll just point and they’ll stare.
I just need some kindness, not apathy and blindness
Did I ask to be born?
Did I ask for this torture?
I need love not scorn.
No, but if many could see what goes on in my brain
I’d lose many friends, as they’d deem me insane.
Why is this disease such a taboo?
No one knows the pain I go through..
The blank that I feel is a soulless void
In this Godless state I feel paranoid.
I wish my soul would burst from my skin
Finally give me peace and mercy within
Grant Harbison.
Interesting!
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