Living Really Freaks Me Out

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Eternity captured in a bottle,

And I am such a bore.

Why am I excavating for answers

That I will never adore?

And what if the question

Wasn't asked to me?


How much better could I feel?


Is it possible to commit mental suicide and live?

Or is it just a front

For just one little pleasurable ride?


I wish I knew the truth

When all hear are lies.

And what I have discovered

Just makes me want to die.

But since I cannot believe

This simplicity of self...

I will just be thrown away

Or put back on my shelf.


I know I'm disturbed.

I know I'm demented.

Most of you are strictly insulting.

I'm convinced that only I am tormented.


I know this is probably wrong,

And that I just assume.

But I live with what I'm taught,

With all about me that's presumed.


This is my health.

This is how I'm feeing.

Whatever you interpret, I don't care:

It's my soul that's peeling.

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