Schizophrenic psychic guilt.
Too many ways till Sunday.
I know I need to be built.

I think I spilt my mind in a fury,
Enough so much that my worth is dilluded in opinions of others trying to convince a jury.

I know you want a life, 
Not a one night stand.
I was fed to resuscitate,
Make quiet demands.

Yet I'm dying every moment,
And while you laugh I'm running out of time with sixty - eighty years of health left.
I need to be right now. 
My voice needs to be heard.
I put the conviction in their words,
Put aside my mental struggle to ask you how you feel,
Help disperse the score. 
Help feed the poor.

Now these tides brought me to shore.
The string that pulls was more important than the object I seek, 
No I never get bored.

This isn't the first time I've been blinded in a room, made to confess sin and all reminisce about all the people I neglected. 
My brothers gave me power,
When they told me to write.
My sisters gave me compassion,
When they told me to fight.

I'm just as scared as you,
Hesitant to spill my heart to the ones I love.
Staving off those suicidal tendencies,
Putting homicide to rest while I fall to my knees and give into a dependency.

Courtesy of yours truly.

Never piping down from an alert echelon.

Even when I win that lottery no I wouldn’t change.

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