Pretense
This is not what I read
Just gripping by my toes and trying very hard not to worry
Isn’t it fair to warn everyone around me?
Trying to breathe but the oxygen is tearing at the seams
I should just know that everyone is out to get me
Murals
Painted on a spreadsheet
Counting all the days I chose stability over my needs
Realizing I rely on this much coffee daily
Being aware is far worse than not ever knowing
My mental frame says to not give me any pity
I’d rather nobody know that this is who has become me
Walking is hard when I’ve overexerted my bad knees
Sun poisoning on my skin is not what I need
At the end of the day, maybe it's cancer that's gonna kill me
