To say my name is to ultimately say the things that I have come to fear,
Because the past has only brought me shame and embarrassment.
Where is my social salvation?
Where is my social redemption?
Where is my chance to fix everything that I’ve come to regret?
I guess I get what I asked for,
Although I can’t recall asking for anything at all.
Now you know why I cannot utter one single phrase
Without worrying like hell,
Without stuttering over and over and over again,
Without being over-analytical,
Without fucking it up.
Tell me what I am doing wrong.
My mind is to that of a rotten harvest.
The words grow into thoughts,
And then they’re rooted up
To where I just let them set for far too long.
And then I over-analyze.
I begin to worry,
But then I stop, think, compromise with myself,
And confirm the fact that I will never amount to much
Besides just pacing around my room,
Afraid to step outside and face my fears.
Maybe I serve no purpose.
Perhaps I serve no purpose.
I guess I serve no purpose.
It explains everything about me.
My sadness, my solitude,
My strong fear of you.