I wrote my thoughts.
Looking at what I am hurts my soul,
making me not want to be me anymore.
Thinking of what happened today,
makes me want to cry.
Nothing even happened.
Yet it creeps in even when I'm happy.
When I write it helps,
but can't I write something else?
But there's nothing that can change me,
because I am not myself.
I cannot think of what I did.
I already did it.
But you wont,
That's just another one of my notes.