People want space, want respect, want grace
Want comforts, luxuries, distance, and a place
I give 'em all I can, I hush, I stop, I stand
The hordes, who I love, who think not of me
Leave a path- crooked, steep, high
Above their heads, I walk on the blade of a razor
I walk too close to her, princess is not comfortable
She shoves me off, I cling with my fingers
My blood rains down, stains her pretty dress
Gripping the edge, trying not to fall
Moaning in pain, trying to be silent
Still bothering her; she pushes and hates and yells
“Harassment! Harassment!  I need a prince to my aid!”
You and your discomfort, me and my suffering
Pushed, shoved, beaten, broken
I flow, take my knocks, don't resist against the riptide
Faith that it will stop – with patience I'll be okay
But behind me, I feel its breath on my back
My death, my fate, my demise
Why have I been driven here, do they not see my bane
What do I do to fight for my life
How do I dig myself out of a grave
How do I keep from being pushed again after I escape
How do I stand to break, and break, and break
Pushed closer to a hole, black, dark, and deep
A void which holds the answer to suffering eternally
Pushed closer and closer, it doesn't end
Till suicide and hate, both weaker than I
Seem to be the only escapes.
What do I do when suffering in this place?