No, it's not the dream, The 10 year old me once saw, I'm living in a stranger's dream. I hope to wake up soon, But I'm not sure if I'll be there, Waiting for me. This life I'm living, It feels like a race, Or Chess as it seems. I have to run or make a move, To be alive or atleast exist. The mornings, the nights, The evening sights, It all seems the same. Just a loop or is it déjà vu, Who should I hold to blame? I cry, I laugh, I talk to people, I try to be a normal being. But is it normal to feel like this, Like an absolute fuckin shit. Someone told me, To stop self-loathing, But I denied it's existence. Now I'm wondering if there's a chance, She might be right from the start. Self love is there, Self loathing is there, Feels like I'm obsessed with me. But then again I don't want to leave me alone For I don't trust my dreams. They make me dry, They make me sweat, They make my life what it seems. I love them the most, I fear them the most, This is unrequited love as it seems.
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