I walk these empty, lonely paths,
unsure of where I’m going.
Am I young? or am I old?
My thoughts are overflowing.
These days seem hard, but there’s been worse,
there’ll be worse again I’m sure.
My heart is sighing, breaking, going,
but I don’t know what for.
I’m overwhelmed by power,
to vocalise my mind,
I can decide if I live or die-
I’m scared what I may find.
I would not cry, there are no tears,
A scream would seem too loud.
There is anguish buried underneath,
So why do I feel proud?
Odd and strange, bizarre, deranged.
They do throw description at me.
They never use: alone, confused
But I am-
So why should that be?
They do label for reasons beyond those I understand.
I go to strike the demons off but someone grabs my hand.
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