Who are you to tell me that I better act specifically, Meet certain qualifications and survive according to your expectations. I shouldn't have to become so uncomfortably numb to hide all I realize, all the troubles you disguised, from me. Letting you know I see right through your two faced psychopath low life no esteem less than supreme self. So unsure of where to turn or when you'll turn on me, uncaringly. The tears, the fears, thinking through the manipulative years, Who are you to tell me that I cannot be with them. I know he haunts us all but he cannot make me fall, so low, How can I know, at night you won't undo what I've done and damage what I fixed, show the pieces that I hid in the depth and darkness, I still run, from the monster I've become. I scare myself to bits and am drowning in an infinite pit comfortably numb to the sins I've all done, to you. Who are you to tell me that I am not perfectly beautiful perfection. According to my recollection with only a few minor exceptions, I see a complicated expression showing a lot of confession, pain and sorrow, the scars left behind tomorrow. I ran from you, I ran from myself I didn't want to believe that I needed the help, I welp, and remember my desire to travel no higher, to surrender. Pull the trigger. Take the pill. I just needed the power and needed the will. So mentally ill, just wanted to go for the ultimate kill, one last undesirable thrill. Who are you to tell me that I am a nobody. I will live how I want to be, Dream of the sky and someday you'll see. I will fix myself up and mend until the end. I'll look back on these years, these tears, these scars and these fears, and finally be able to believe, that with a little bit of hope, that who you are is who you tell yourself to be. Me.