How can I fulfill your expectations, When I, myself, can't meet my own? How can I bear your lacerations, While my insecurities reach monstrous heights? So much selfishness I carry, That my fragile heart has crumbled. Once again, we're stuck, we're pondering, As society’s absurd morality makes us ill and sick. But what’s the point of such exquisite suffering, If it’s perpetual, caught in this fallacy? Liberating, far from this suppression, far from conformity, Yet we suffer, but with freedom—Elysium.