"the wheels are coming" by me
Why do I have to be like this? Why? Can somebody answer me? No, you can’t. Why I’m not as lucky as you, and don’t tell me I am, ‘cause I know that I’m not, and you wouldn’t change my opinion even If I’d like to. Feel lucky is being happy with oneself, being proud of who and how you are, and I’m not, is not one day that a I wouldn’t accept the offer to remake myself, clean my memory, born again. But I can’t not, and there’s one way left to not be me, the death.
I hate everybody, I hate everything, but if I hate you is because I hate myself, I hate every single part of me, and if I hate you is because I can not support the idea that is me who have to admire you.
So, why I can not kill myself? Why if I hate everything, even me? ‘Cause unfortunately you don’t hate me, and even fake, that is a hope to keep living.
I hate myself, why don’t you hate me?
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