Tiresome are the tears that drench the skin, rendering every fibre of our beings thin
The expressions of melancholy misery as we lash out and blame others close and dear in some bid to prove how bad and cruel we truly are
The hate and self loathing, like some ritualistic method of scolding. It’s the reason for being g disliked and abused is the reply, at least then it can be said that it was deserved and my doing for it was I in control.
Tiresome are these words that are dangerous and wrong, for there is often no reason or blame to pin on those others than the ones resoinsjbke for the pain caused. It gets better, don’t fret, or else live to wallow in regret.
Tiresome is the constant assurance then it wasn’t your fault and it wasn’t deserved, yet when it happened so much how else can be it explained, somewhere along the path the blame falls to my door
How far can the bar be raised until breaking point is reached and all hope is obsolete
It is not fair to rely and linger on the same tree branch weighing down, fit to break, perhaps today will be better than anticipated or expected. There is another chance for the old ways to be rejected
Tiresome are the tears that linger in a neverflow of what’s wrong, what is there to do,
Always so angry always so sad, the diagnosis is in, the survey says you are mad
That ache to be needed and acknowledged whilst craving solitude and invisibility
In a crowed room or an active screen, the loneliness reigns supreme
Shiny and clean on the surface, always on the edge, promise to be better and not let the melancholy win
Tiresome are the tears that stretch the tolerance thin, craving the darkness in the light, mind stuck in a deplorable state, can’t even bring ourselves to move, frozen in this state when all I wanna do is run to you
Tiresome patterns and attempts, reinvent and recreate, a new jersey to wear, got a new style for my hair, color the past away, it did nothing but bring life down anyway
Injection of purple to the skin, mini notes to remind and prevent the risk of a formidable path creeping up ahead, made a vow to preserve and protect, yet other wants to hurt remain
Tiresome is the self loathing, that feeling of constant forboding, cursed with blessing of a simply life, irritated and upset, not a single day can go by without a melancholy moment filed with angst and rage
The results are in and it confirms the sin, mind gone to waste, a total disgrace, madness and misery has come to be the mistress in your place
Hope is gone, fear reigns on, making plans and going places, yet nothing works and back down to the same old story
Tiresome is the wish to be better than this, just keep on reinventing and pretending to the outside world, whilst within lies the reality and tolerance is waining thin.
Tiresome are these tears and constant fears, of dreams and desires, perhaps this will be the cure, to remedy away the negativity and make it no more.
Follow the inspiration and the love, it’s wholesome and real, from a country where the best things come in threes
Unable to fulfil, the fears are there as well as the risks of going alone in vulnerable solitude, the dangers are there, probably best to stay in bed.
Tiresome is the build up to this final examination, it’s the topics they say, the fundamental cause of this depression, wait for it, here comes another act of terrifying aggression, commencing the tears and fears
Unable to breath, when will it stop, will it be safe? Confess these fears to a tired reception, the knifes are out and laced with aggression, unable to understand, perhaps the diagnosis was right and it’s all part of being mad.
Tiresome, this is becoming, to follow and go after will be validating the woes the overheard voice goes, but to ignore and leave alone will create sadness and guilt, there’s no way to win
Tiresome, all this is becoming, perhaps it’s the lack of discipline and the never ending distracting at a beck and call, starting to think friends don’t exist anymore
The sight of the reminders raise the alarms, who knew at this age it would all still be responsible for harm
Tiresome all this has become and the hour is late, better rest the head and pray that tomorrow will be better for all our sakes.