(no subject)
you know I'm wrong, I'll plunge that needle in my veins
disregard every word and help that someone's given you
Keep going on about these people who love you, I swear they do
But you can't see the help, you're blinded by your selfish desires.
You don't need me, you don't need my words or phrases
I'll just turn on you and cut myself out of your life when you need me
but death doesn't bring sadness, not anymore
it's anger and indignation, it's 'how could you leave me?'
Question my motives and falsely accuse me
You're wrong for all this talking
It doesn't matter that it's just to get it out
putting something in print means something stronger
This world is ruining everything, I think
I don't see you anymore
I'm breathing processed air and eating something that I'm told was good once
I fill myself with drugs that are supposed to make things better
but what do we know?
Do you know what we're doing, do you trust them?
Am I just a fool for questioning the ones and zeros
the things that claim to be my friends, my saviours?
I never see you anymore, not the real you
not since you left in a storm, shattered in a moment
you can't be rebuilt through anything
not through drugs or pictures or false friendships
It's has been a while, hasn't it.
You like making me second place, you like turning things around
you like irony, don't you.
I jump around because I cannot concentrate
something has taken that away
but I only miss that ability when the drugs wear off
when I am broken down into a flurry of pain and emotion
which part is real.
Am I more alive when I am drugged up, artificially awake
artificially happy, artificially healthy
Am I real when it has all cleared out of me
when all I want is another drug to force me to sleep
since I know I'll never do it on my own
hop from point to point
you all know how to do it, nobody concentrates anymore
it's not a great work of art
but it means something to me
the writing, not the rereading
that makes it fake.
it turns the suicidal thoughts into metaphors
it's easier for me to deny everything in the morning
and it's so much easier to beg for attention at night
watch me beg, watch me slum, watch me appeal to any emotion for attention
because we cannot concentrate
we cannot concentrate
concentrate
on something new
disregard every word and help that someone's given you
Keep going on about these people who love you, I swear they do
But you can't see the help, you're blinded by your selfish desires.
You don't need me, you don't need my words or phrases
I'll just turn on you and cut myself out of your life when you need me
but death doesn't bring sadness, not anymore
it's anger and indignation, it's 'how could you leave me?'
Question my motives and falsely accuse me
You're wrong for all this talking
It doesn't matter that it's just to get it out
putting something in print means something stronger
This world is ruining everything, I think
I don't see you anymore
I'm breathing processed air and eating something that I'm told was good once
I fill myself with drugs that are supposed to make things better
but what do we know?
Do you know what we're doing, do you trust them?
Am I just a fool for questioning the ones and zeros
the things that claim to be my friends, my saviours?
I never see you anymore, not the real you
not since you left in a storm, shattered in a moment
you can't be rebuilt through anything
not through drugs or pictures or false friendships
It's has been a while, hasn't it.
You like making me second place, you like turning things around
you like irony, don't you.
I jump around because I cannot concentrate
something has taken that away
but I only miss that ability when the drugs wear off
when I am broken down into a flurry of pain and emotion
which part is real.
Am I more alive when I am drugged up, artificially awake
artificially happy, artificially healthy
Am I real when it has all cleared out of me
when all I want is another drug to force me to sleep
since I know I'll never do it on my own
hop from point to point
you all know how to do it, nobody concentrates anymore
it's not a great work of art
but it means something to me
the writing, not the rereading
that makes it fake.
it turns the suicidal thoughts into metaphors
it's easier for me to deny everything in the morning
and it's so much easier to beg for attention at night
watch me beg, watch me slum, watch me appeal to any emotion for attention
because we cannot concentrate
we cannot concentrate
concentrate
on something new