My soul's been plucked like rose petals
Every day, slowly.
My mind's been rotting ever since;
I've disguised me into someone I am not,
I've died in my dreams
And 've killed my thoughts.
Is this what you expect from one?
To leave behind all,
To live with agony until one's numb?
Is this what you call adulting to be?
Dying each day,
Drifting apart with none to care and see?