Isn't It Ironic
Isn’t it Ironic
My life is like the earth
Spinning on its axis
Around and round
Until the day it ends
Back and forth
Up and down
Again, and again
Isn’t it Ironic
As I’m standing up here
My heart is pounding
My eyes are blurring
Holding back tears
Like a great big showing
Though it feels like
I’m holding back a hurricane~
-Pounding around my skull
Is it all in my head
Was it real
Was it fake
Was my mind just playing games
Are these reasons why
My words, my rhymes
Why my melodies suck
How my mind tricks me believing
That the eyes staring on me
Are like a hundred-million
Why do my hands shake
Why I talk fast
When I’m nervous
Isn’t it Ironic
Describe my Anxiety
Depression,
My lonely
My obsessions
My Phobia
Perfectionism
My IBS
Insomnia
My future
All as physical entities
As though I am their centerpiece
And not their possession~
-But you see their not
There really me
There my reality
Their not in my mind
They are all my mind
I can't run from my head
I can’t push back
Can’t tell it goodbye
I can push them back
in boxes
Shove them all away
Until they come back again
Oh, wait
There I go again
Talking of them like seperate
Everyone always sees everyone's problems
There labels before seeing them
If you ever even do see THEM!
Isn't it Ironic
That my words lift me up
As they hold me down
They try to fill this hole
This bleak abiss
There's no cure
for being me
They say “it'll get easier”
But when I’m am stuck in bed
With a endless black abyss
That wishes to swallow me
People call it depression
Or the voice in my head
That helps me get dressed
Say “that makes you look fat.”
“Slutty.” “ignorant.”
“It doesn't matter because you're never good in the end”
Anxiety trapping me in my own head.
Isn't it Ironic
I can't wait to get her to leave
but when she does
My phobias chose to follow me
through the entire day
Till i'm counting the hours
No minutes
Seconds
Stuck in my head
Isn't it Ironic
I can't wait to get home
But when I lie in bed
Insomnia chases me awake
Till I break out crying
Just for the fact
I can't fall asleep.
They say, “it'll get better.”
My question is when?
Isn't it Ironic
That I say “everything's fine”
I say I’m okay
When in reality
I’m dieing inside
But on the outside
I’m completely fine
And no one will ever see
So they don't have to care
They never understand
Even when I wish I could demand
That they did
Now isn't that Ironic
Isn't it Ironic
365.4 days a year
150,600 people a day
6,316 people an hour
105 people a minute
2 people each second
while I’ve been talking
to you.
Are dead
Depressed they said
How's that for sad,
Lonely
Phobophobia
Anxietistic
A perfectionistic
Well,
It's not even a perfect number
Isn't that Ironic . . .
It’s not even that bad
When it comes
To sad
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