it gets better

to tell the truth
nothing comes to me anymore
no inspiration

nothing that i could ever cover
with metaphors and rhymes
nothing that i could disguise
with poetry

there's just things that i keep inside
that i can't say
because even if you don't know my real name
this shit is still too real to me

how am i supposed to say it all
to people who don't know me
and if i say it out loud
will it free me or torture me?

i guess it's all risks at this point
but really could it all get worse?

worse than watching someone die slowly?
worse than getting rejected a kiss because they see themselves lowly
over something they can't control?

worse than being departed from the only one who cared to care, the only one who was really there?
worse than being alone in despair?

worse than doubting the existence of god though the proof is within you?
worse than the only one who's seen everything going mute?

worse than losing yourself, not being au fait to your own being?
worse than seeing yourself change into someone who you hate?

worse than bruises that serve as reminders, though you remember?
worse than knowing they're something left behind, but they'll come back with his temper?

worse than knowing that you can't replace the one before or the one to come?
worse than knowing you're not the one?

worse than feeling the pain of a people across the earth?
and worse than those people being the ones who've known you since birth?

could it really get worse?
sorry i haven't written in a while.