If I went to a professional they'd probably say it started when I was younger
Which begs the question why it didn't affect my older brother

Maybe it's just the way my brain is wired
I'm just so god damn sick and tired
Of being so damn sick and tired
Why am I always so fucking tired?

I just go through the motions
All the days just blend together
The only thing keeping me going
Is the hopes that this won't last forever

I can say that I care about a few things
But it'd be only to myself that I feed lies
There's a lot I need to get off my chest
But it's hard when I have to make it rhyme

I don't consider myself a poet
More of an alocoholic with a pen
I get myself into a drunken haze
And spill all the thoughts in my head

You're probably wondering where this is going
And I can't say that I have the answer
I kind of just type away
Until I start to feel a little better.