When everything's changed and it feels the same;
Letting go of everything but my name.
It's hard to know why when nothing is right;
The world looks simpler in black and white.
There's no going back, something had to give-
maybe we are all just dying to live.
Following this plot line to where it ends,
I can't be sorry and make no amends.
Maybe it's selfish to follow my dreams;
Others jot journals while I scribble reams.
Sorting this all out can feel so intense,
but every good story needs some suspense.