Is my illness-my pain the inside coming out To show the world how I'm going insane pulled apart and torn, thrown about over things I don't want but somehow desire to lose my identity and to be noticed by conforming losing the identity I have-reforming Changing my mind set, my words, my attire into the person I once was and still am But who is not really the same at all I'm less, but more-still an individual-yet less glam follows me for no one remembers me-alone I stand in the hall And walk alone though surrounded This social displacement and isolation has left me confounded The rest, I know feel worse and alone cry out in desperation For a better life, a different choice Maybe even to be like me though I doubt it-they want to be noticed, and no one hears my voice I guess fun, life and identity can't be found together, they don't belong I'll stay alone, it seems it's already been an eternity but, is being yourself really so... Wrong? To all the people who prefer an inanimate bottle of alcohol and a night of forgetting to all of their living, breathing friends with feelings and the memories that are a part of them.
