Don’t know what to do right now
Just trying to get to tomorrow
My brain is fried
My soul, it hurts
Filled with such deep sorrow
And I really wish that I could write
About funny, happy things sometimes
I know this Heavy stuff gets old
These little torturous rhymes
But what can I say?
It is the world I am in
I don’t know how to set down this load
My shoulders ache
From the constant quake
Of stories I am told
I wish I were a comedienne
So I could lighten your load
Make a smile spread ‘cross your face
But I’ve lost all my funny bones
And here I sit, holding such weight
Trying to “Let it go”
But Knowing truth underneath
Cannot be Unknown
So here I sit another night
Another sadness
Another fight
And I’m just tryin’ to find
Tomorrow.
NAH, it never gets old. Pink fluffy unicorns dancing on rainbows- now THAT gets old ;p You’re real, and that’s admirable. So few obtain it, though painful. Try to think of it as choosing the red pill and waking out of the Matrix. Thanks for being real!