Wounded Dog

I got my ticket to fuck-town. Time to celebrate. Finally free from it. I am officially not able to do most of the things everyone else is doing. I'm so happy! My soul won't stop crying. Everyone now looks at me with that specific way, where they're practically saying "you're now useless and fucked". I look like a wounded dog. Some might say it's better to be put down. Inside i'm screaming. I AM NOT USELESS. I CAN DO MORE. DON'T WRITE ME OFF. I'M NOT DEAD MEAT. I'M STILL ALIVE. I CAN HELP. Who listens? Waiting for a response that will never come. Walking a lonely road. Well, i'm used to it. Being alone ain't a new thing. That look i get from others though. That is indeed unbearable. My anger is frozen by my inability to convince. All i have is a keyboard that feels and understands me. The keyboard is crying... Don't let me thing. It's Dangerous!