So out of touch with myself.
Dubious voices come from everywhere,
even from the image I see in the mirror.
So sick of all I've seen and done.
Everything I feel is carefully examined,
relentless questions to my well-being.
So done with doing what I have to do.
I don't know what to do otherwise,
lost in a world of people who don't know me.
So wishing for something to change.
And wishing to be able to welcome it,
without the skeletons falling from the closet.
So wanting to let go.
The Voice whispers, "Give me your burdens,"
I say, "Why? I always take them back."
So I slap a smile on my face.
Sometimes I feel it, sometimes I don't,
either way, do you know me enough to tell?