Some days Iâm okay, but most of the time I feel like a waste,
A worthless person, only good for taking up space.
Every morning, I look in the mirror and stare at my face,
As all the good drains away, replaced with disgrace.
Just a bag of bones that poisons othersâ days,
They say itâs not true, that Iâm wonderful in so many ways,
Yet those words feel like lies that bleed through my vein...