I am weary, yet I carry on
And march into the daily battle with my mind.
Please, do not tell me how I look tired, yet mumble
disagreements on my exhaustion, how I can possibly
be tired when I don’t have kids. I
am the kid, and I am the adult. There is ying, there
is yang and the black and white of it all vaguely submerges into the grey where
my mood stays, and here you are again
telling me that I am pathetic. If you want to sift through
and make the blurred lines thick and bold again then feel
free to try and fucking fix me. Go ahead, I’m sure your “wise” words are
exactly what I need to wrestle this fucking bear off me. Your white knight manners
are not going to rescue this princess from the tower because I am the one
Who shut myself in here and threw away the key. There is a fear in freedom
and what makes you think I was ever free from this dark?
Don’t just write this off as a chemical reaction when this is a toxic war and the ones that are being poisoned off against me are the ones I want to hold closely
It’s so so selfish to let them choke under this tainted fumes.
I am the Grey. The Grey is me.