The world is beginning to be my closet
Or my tight clothed space
Air does not circulate as it should
Foolishness pollutes
I am claustrophobic
And I choke on the mess piled on my mind plate
Daily
So forget the cravings for breakfast, lunch and dinner
I always set my place to not even eat
And Who the hell set it up for down and out to be a daily routine?
Is happiness a superhero trying to fight the injustice of being sad?
Or even content?
Chuckle
Chuckle and my head tilt to the side to think of that statement
Is the world not upside down or is it the plague of history repeating a relentful trend?
Too deep to rectify?
Well let the Complicated Simply break it down
I have the family the friends the independence
But in a cruel world I still feel alone
My head buried in my hands
I scream inside
"WHAT THE FUCK IS MY PURPOSE?"
Do I go through my day working to live or living to work?
Not even an eventful or exciting day but fulfilled with bore
Now don't get me wrong I don't want to jump out of planes or scale building for a living but where does my purpose begin?
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