Not a Writer

I think im getting better
it was such a hard task
To even get this far in life
While holding up a mask

But as i look around i think
I havent changed at all
Whats the point of getting up
If you're always gonig to fall

I think im comfortable at the bottom
Its not as bad as it may seem
Im discovereing whats in my new home
As i stumble across my self-esteem

And my bodies more tired
I guess this is my hardest mask to hold
The one that will fool me while im awake
Bring my conscious warmth while keeping my heart cold

Is this how ill live my whole life?
Telling the truth through riddles and rhymes
Being forced to fight, not to give up
Will i ever be forgiven for those crimes?

Is this what im destined to become?
This monster even i dont understand
the one who reaches out for someone
then slaps away their hand

the one who cries at night
for someone else's lost love
who digs her grave
while thinking about going above

is this how they see me?
no they think im getting stronger...
its why it took so long for them to tell me
but its taking me longer..

so this is whats behind my walls
this is my key to that door
to dealing with the truth behind the writing
but im not a writer anymore...