Untitled

I hate how I write

It doesn't get me anywhere

Still I feel the same

Don't know who I am

And loose myself over again

Its a cycle of pain

That has literally become me

Flea

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Should die my hair

As that is all for what the world seems to care

Would have done it before

But man was I poor

Had to steal to live

Or I would have not made it

To the lovely point where I'm at

Always feeling like I'm close to dying

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Ok made some edits and re-wrote a bit:

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I hate how I write

It doesn't get me anywhere

Still I feel the same

And don't know who I am,

I loose myself over again

It's a cycle of pain

That has literally become me.

​

Should die my hair

As that is all for what the world seems to care

Would have done it before

But man was I poor,

Had to steal to live

Or I would have not made it

I guess at least I'm still alive

But it's a life that feels very fragile.

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