Who am I to be the representation of expression to the unexpressed,
a liquefied colourful presentation filling the outlines of all the depressed.
Manifested to be what the world would label an outcast.
A fulfilment of that empty void of a heart, commonly known for not being built to last.
A trumpet blaring the truths of what self indulgence could bring many hurts to a soul,
the voice of the voiceless, speaking out for us all.
Being trampled down upon by the world's footprints of self doubt,
telling what I can't and fail to do, while I'm trying to figure all these things out.
And I would cast out my own two ears, just to hear empty silence when this world tries to speak.
A world so cold constantly trying to force me to reach my peak.
Surely now I would have learnt from my past mistakes and all my missteps,
surely no I could sense trouble five days away and be ready with all my preps.
But as I say again, I would be the voice to the depressed,
a loud voice to those gone silent, with no freedom to be expressed.