Warning: full of clichés and general rambling nonsense.
I’m sorry that I’m a handful
But if things are under control
then I’m not moving fast enough.
Not necessarily sad, but decidedly empty,
I enjoy sleeping: it’s like being dead,
but without the commitment.
It’s fine when things get hard,
but when things become unbearable,
then we are faced with a problem.
Can I miss something that I never had?
I miss sanity, I almost had it once.
I miss you, I almost had you once.
My tears are just the poison escaping my soul,
don’t fret when I cry for no reason,
it’s a good thing, a cleansing.
But wait.. if you don’t understand my silence
how can you understand my words?
Wasting my life away, waiting for something
to happen. Happy, happen, happy, happen.
This is a disease, not a lifestyle choice.
The suddenness of it all; you wake up
one morning, afraid that you’re going to live.
You check under your bed for monsters,
I check inside of my head. Don’t worry,
they’re still there, they’re not going anywhere.
(I can’t drown them, they are competent swimmers).
If depression ends when it ends you,
then it’s almost over.
To live doesn’t mean you are alive,
I feed it the fire it needs to thrive.