When I’m alone in my room sometimes I stare at the wall,
And in the back of my mind I hear my conscience’s call,
The voices in my head;
It says that I’ll never survive the outtakes and the lies,
Being the social outcast that’s afraid to rise,
Closing out my emotions because I’m desperate to survive,
Having no reasons to go on and pursue the skies,
The thieving of happiness and the biases of highs.
And you know, maybe I won’t make it out alive,
But that doesn’t mean that I still don’t carry any hope.
I like to think that I am satisfied with my life,
My decisions and the fights that I’ve designed.
Perhaps I ain’t,
But I can still make that change.
I may not be so cool with my underrated bling,
But it’s all about the personality, not the fame!
I’m not much more than a human.
I’m not much more than me.
You can say I’m bit substandard,
And that would be okay by me.
I know I’m not that much!
The only things that comforts me are the unwanted hugs and secured loyalty,
The thoughts that I am exceedingly better than what I believe,
But you can’t so easily change my beliefs.
It’s like a religion that I preach consistently,
It’s one of my annoying personality traits,
That I can’t even try to dissipate.
A flaw of mine that many could relate,
However my deposition should not make you continue acting that way.
I need human interaction as a distraction.
Being all by myself causes too much friction,
There is no diction that stops me from being pessimistic,
So why do I still lay here thinking about my future accomplishments?
Conflictions and contradictions,
The condition of being confused,
Anxiety and abnormalities that scares us into not making paths that we're supposed to choose.
What even is the point anymore?
I’m getting ill with all of these battles I wasn’t begging for.
I’m stuck under this little joint,
I’m stuck on this carousel of disappoint,
I’m stuck with this inner hatred that is holding me at gunpoint.
The type of hatred that I can’t pinpoint,
The type of animosity that stops me with the endpoint.
I want the voices in my head to lay down and just go to bed.
I’ve been babysitting the five stooges for far too long,
I have even forgot where I use to belong.
Depression keeps going missing then jump scares me.
Anxiety keeps asking too many questions, something about dignity.
Insecurities keeps insulting what I thought were my best assets,
And the Loathing Twins keep disregarding what are the bestest.
I miss my home of happiness,
The place where I see my mother Contentment,
My father Trust,
And my two older brothers, Serenity and Love.
Will the voices in my head ever stop?