the miserable life of a miserable teenager

to breathe?

Why do I always have to remind myself,

I’m alive?

Why do I need therapy,

to live?

Why was I chosen,

to be fucked up?

Some days, I think my head might pop off. This content © Nôv/elDr(a)m/a.Org.

It’s all in my mind,

but do you think that matters to someone, who thinks their head is gonna pop off?

I haven’t cleaned my room for months,

but do you think that matters to someone, who thinks their head is gonna pop off?

I haven’t showered in a few days,

but do you think that matters to someone, who thinks their head is gonna pop off?

I haven’t been eating much,

but do you think that matters to someone, who thinks their head is gonna pop off?

I haven’t fully lived ever,

but do you think that matters to someone, who thinks their head is gonna pop off?

No. It doesn’t. Nothing matters.