The fire rips through me
And still brings mirages of hope
To be heard, to be understood
To be loved. For who I am.
I pay for sins that I know not of
Yet here I am, committed to mayhem
Apparently overthinking it.
To you, my problems are small
Insignificant to your rich world
Of course, you suffer from the heat, it's summer
Of course, you don't get appreciation
Your art is free, who will buy it?
Madness, anger, frustration
I have been silently screaming into my pillow
Every night for the past decades.
My tears have now dried up in hell
Where many like me scream into the black hole
Where our issues and complains disappear
Before they reach your privileged ears.
I chose this life, I chose my pain
For the little things you find insignificant
That makes me who I am
And enlighten my soul, richer than yours.
Your flaws, your reasons, your excuses
I justify them all in my head
Because I have lived with myself my whole life
I know it is tough to be with someone like me.
I am burning in hell, not that you can tell
From your lofty palaces in the cloud
You can't even see this further down.
© Suranya
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