Bored of Writin’
When I die I do not want an answer
In my life recovery was like a fucking cancer
My life for the past years have been hard
Lying to my friends and not showing them I’m barred
Time after time
I was climbing over and over
Now I’m just crawling like a rover
I already know my mother’s eyes were fucking bawling, when she was watching her son on the floor crawling
I don’t even know if she has forgotten the pain yet
Man that shit probably made her more than a bit pressed
I wonder if die
Would the world be so fly?
Forgive me for sins and forgive me for my lies
My recovery brings more pain
And the gym is not showing that much gain
Who should I yell at?
I can’t yell at myself, that’s too vane
I want to just threaten to end it
But I can’t do that unless I fuckin meant it
I’m glad I will eventually leave like all
Everyone eventually picks up that call
I can’t believe I am giving up
But sometimes my rest is just calling me
You see it’s kinda hard to tell I ain’t well
Except when I talk, it ain’t so fucking swell
So if was to die right here in my chair
Would the people I know front like they even care?
My exes would all cry
But I know they’re glad I’m gone cause I’m just more than just an everyday pawn
My voice gets loud,
so does my crowd
But what’s the point?
I’m sick of fightin
And I’m sick of people gas lightin
Matter fact, I’m sick of writin
