This is existence without living.
You function through your days,
You breathe, you act responsibly,
All the right signals and ways,
To translate the message as expected,
I’m here, go on, I understand.
But, you don’t understand,
In the secret chambers of your heart,
You’re screaming, you’re clinging,
But you play this crazy part.
Why should all of you suffer?
It isn’t your disease, move on.
Perhaps if you could conceive,
Of questioning everyone’s motivation,
For you learn everyone has one,
You’d understand my determination,
To allow this madness inside myself,
Simply to carry on and on.
To have only the help given me,
The humiliation of having to ask,
For help for small, even intimate things,
Lost abilities to do easiest of tasks,
And knowing you’ve no choice,
If you’re to stay awake or lose it all.
No, this is existence, not living.