There are so many things I want to say But each time I write, the words only rot and fade away. In my mind, it's a never ending maze. Full of sins I've judged upon myself. Everyday I look at life in a dark haze. I wonder, since when had I started to question what I felt? I have been lonely for too long that I started to fear That all the moments I felt that I was happy Was, all in truth, unreal Mere delusion I've forced upon my lonely self Only to comfort myself in some sort of self help.