It’s when you realise,

You’ve been living your life in a clever disguise,

The kind where no one really sees what’s behind your eyes,

The kind which dries those cries and acts as if you live with unnatural highs.


Well what I see is people not taking the time to listen,

Living in a place where all that matters is their own existence.

This really gets me pissed – yeah.

I’m sat there thinking ‘would hear my words only if I hissed them.

Took them, twisted them and forced them into your ear like a piston?’


Or then would I really set you off,

Ranting about the world as if it owes you so much,

Talking from a place which has become so out of touch,

Waiting for someone to comfort you with kind words and such.

Well I’m not here to be an emotional crutch.


I’m all for compassion and empathy for others,

But I’m starting to believe an excess causes more trouble,

It forces you to not sift throughout your own emotion rubble,

Bury it with cuddles; smother it till it until it becomes muddled

Lock it up and hope that one day doesn’t reappear ten-fold.


You see my frustration comes in many forms:

Dancing upon all that others consider a norm,

Silently enticing me to become more withdrawn,

Telling me that our consciousness is like the earth before its dawn.

I’m constantly torn; I’m being forced to mourn everything that sticks in my mind,

Like a psychological thorn.


I’m just as scared as everyone else,

But more aware of the weight of society on our mental health,

It takes everything that is real and provides you with a false self,

It tells you all you need to be happy is physical wealth,

Forces an overwhelm, morals aren’t upheld,

Just so when you leave this plane he welcomes you to hell.



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