Who I Am, What I Feel

Do you ever get the feeling,
Of existentialism?
I do, 
And it's driven me insane since 2006.

Yes, I get nervous.
Yes, I get nostalgic.
Yes, I get scared.
No, I have not felt that surreal, genuine thing yet.

Not what you thought,
Much different.
Don't feel sorry,
Come over and help me. Unlike the others I told.

Unless you've been through what I've been in,
Don't you dare call me selfish,
Don't you dare make me feel ashamed.
You have no business with me.

Don't tell me,
You got it worse than me.
I'm sorry bout' that but,
I need help now.

I can't speak to them,
I get a little bit nervous but I will crumble in humility.
I can't go out,
It's too hard, I'm too shy for no apparent reason.

Just be here for me,
Direct me to a new door. 
Free this sword in my back,
And wash me in your warm bath.

I just want to sleep sometimes, 
Long enough,
So that,
I may never wake up again, like every night.

I dislike your reckoning.
Ain't nothing much to me.
Look through this glass jar all you want,
You'll find nothing with your superficial glare.

I hate sitting in this white room,
Wanting to break the walls down,
With sledgehammers,
I finally received.

My soul is suspended in thin air, with strings ready to be cut off.
My heart is stuck in black tar.
My mind is still in repetition.
My life in a continuous rotation like a record.

I just want one thing,
Out of this miserable world.
Please listen to me,
Make me happy.