Lost Poem by Heart Of Ink

We are the banished ones
And perhaps we always will be
Is the world too crowded for us?
Is the world too mundane?
I think about you just the same,
No matter where you are from,
It kills me that I bother,
It is such an exausting process
I can feel this vengeful desire,
Because every single bone in my body
Wants to crush through the earth-core
Wants to crush through dirt more,
I am a self-destructive weapon,
I jump from hell straight into heaven,
It kills me that I struggle,
It is such an exausting process
I throw myself into trouble,
Because whenever I try to talk to you,
The words cease to come out of my mouth
The words cease to come out-loud
I know that there is a part of me that is lost,
I know that there is a part of me in us,
It kills me that I wonder
It is such an exausting process