I'm very tired
And it's very late at night
My thoughts keep me up
It's getting harder to fight
I think about my failures
And everything I've done wrong
How I **** everything up
It's all a familiar song
My words are getting literal
I can't disguise my guilt
The hatred for myself
In every direction it's built
Well rhyming gets so hard
When I try to write my mind
Because I'm unable to find the words
That could shed light
Even without a rhyme or a rhythm I find it hard to articulate these dangerous thoughts I have. As many writers do, we have this sense of frustration because no combination of syllables can really portray the emptiness and sadness that lives in us. Styron called it "melancholia", but not even that will suffice.