Vodka, Thoughts and Ink
Sitting with my pad, trying to think of a rhyme that hasn't been used
I spill my heart out on every poem, look at all the honesty I include
I make the page bleed and leave the pen abused
Show the world I'm damaged and broken aswell as sick and twisted
I'll always use my own words, I refuse to participate if it's scripted
I'd rather the naked truth than a dressed lie
Haven't wanted to open my eyes since we lost left eye
I wish I could live my life with more laughs and less cries
But depression married me, and anxiety told me I'm her best guy
It seems like this bond is forever and contractual
My bipolar scares people, because sometimes I act irrational
I'm tired of people speaking on mental health like its factual
When they know nothing about it, so they say "Get over it" these comments are laughable
Except I don't have the strength to leave bed, never mind laugh
Most girls think I've just used them as a time pass
Truth be told, I was that insecure and have always felt like I'm not good enough
Hiding my face from the world with my hood up
I rarely go out, I lock myself away in the house
I put everything on paper that I'm scared to say with my mouth
I feel like telling this girl Megan how I feel, but I won't
I've had my fair share of girls, but this feels different
My heart is telling me to tell her, But anxiety and depression are screaming don't
When we go a day without speaking, it feels like something is missing
We haven't even kissed, never mind had sex
But I genuinely don't think I've felt like this yet
I'll write it on this page so she can't see
I'll keep it a secret from her and tell myself some things just aren't meant to be
I've hid from my feelings for so long, we're almost strangers
I build the strongest and biggest walls anytime my heart is in danger
People can only get so close and no further
I'm not sure if the love in my heart died of natural causes, or if it was murdered
Either way it's dead and I can't see it coming back to life
People judge my shortcomings, but if they walked in my shoes they wouldn't last two nights
I write on my pad because it's my shrink
This is what happens when you combine Vodka thoughts and ink
|