I became accustomed to a kind of social servitude and no one, imean no one, could accept what I had become.
Selfish, bitter, weak. Enough to make you sick. And lately, I've feeling there are bits of life I'm stealing. Get me home. At times it seens I wil not help but it's just that I savemyself from fear that blankets like mist, on a optimist whoinsists it's the simple things that crush, and I'm crying fartoo much, so much so that I'm thinking my control on life isshrinking.
There's a light on in my head and I'm thinking what I said. Allthe freedom in my brain, I'm alright now, I'm just thinking whatto say.
Sorry doesn't seem to wash when there's truths around that I havequashed and no one, I mean no one, can depress me more than Ican. So does that make me weak or should that make me sick? Butlately I've been feeling that I'm gonna give up breathing.
There's a light on in my head and I'm thinking what you said. Althe fever in my brain, I'm alright now, I can even take thepain.
