Flower in a dark room never blooms.
You can outrun the gloom, but not the tomb.
I am not pessimistic, I am being realistic.
Just a misfit committed to its own mischief.

Prisoner in my mind, chained in this body,
Guess I am still soul searching.
For my sole purpose or soul purpose.
Guess I am still searching.
The Google icon is still turning.
No search results.
Maybe I should just give up.

Life is short, so plan accord.
Singing the same song, like an old record.
Life is a gift so live for the present?
I would rather pass, still reminisce about the past.

Being pessimistic is an illness.
Self-inflicted sickness.
Dark clouds hanging over your head.
Every day feels like a sunset.
Just pure darkness.
Where cold thoughts are harnessed.
Seen as harmless, till it’s razor scars on your arms next.

Overthinking till I over limit.
Thinking about how I keep finding lemons.
Maybe this lemon needs aid
To how turn lemons into lemonade.
Please, demonstrate.