I wrote this in my philosophy class the other day. Just pondering life and it's meaning. Dealing with my depression and such. Psychotic kind of thoughts and shit.
Caffeine, Nicotine, and Caffeine.
Black shirt, White shirt, Black shirt.
Everyday is the same.
Like the sun rising and falling.
Hotwired like my Volvo;
I've forgotten how to feel.
I've forgotten how to peel,
The layers back.
And spill my guts onto strangers.
They say strangers have a story;
But do they?
The cigarettes they smoke,
Do they give them hope?
Or do they wallow, wallow, wallow
Until the pills are hard to swallow.
Until they catch their breath,
And see the truth.