borrowed time is all we have
countless words still left to say
I will finish before I go
I will finish, come what may
we were never allowed to truly live
never did we strive to succeed
never was I truly happy
never did their advice I heed
so I don't know why I cry today
when it truly is my fault
depression, anxiety fucked me over
but, you know, take it with a pinch of salt
long last I made it to the top
where everyone wanted me to be
lonely it is, empty and desolate
mother, I'm here, are you proud of me?
they ask why I write what I write
it is because I have no other clue
no clue where life's taking me
no clue what I'm supposed to do
so I write and write and write
all my words I pour
I write and write and write
until I cant write anymore
(The writer would like to remain anonymous)
(Image from here.)
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