My vague ambiguous expression
projects the inner landscape
of uncertainty, depression
fuck you Schopenhauer
you’re dead and I’m alive
and I’ll take my muddy thoughts
And persist, and heedless strive
It’s nothing but a feeling
that I know that I should ditch
hey I could be somebody
come up with the next “life’s a bitch”
I’m dying for specifics
but I’m not ready to beg
until you break me down more
I guess it will have to stay vague
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