pretty odd

I find it collectively odd that others are drawn to me yet I'm not drawn to myself. I find it sad that the world may one day hear my true voice yet I no longer have a true world to voice. Though I find it unbearable that I want to hate what I love for the simple fact I can walk away with reason and selfish content.For my heart no longer sings, it barely speaks. My brain no longer thinks, it just bleeds and my soul that once carried so many answers is now nothing more than questionable. It's tiresome being tiresome