Dark shadows layer the underneath of your deadened eyes. It's so hard to sleep when these black figures, these demons, whisper into your ears-- validating the fears you have, the hope that causes your heart to rise with joy that things will get better, then fall... as those fears turn into a depressing reality that your mind cannot escape.
Fear of living. Fear of dying. The ultimate decisions. The Absurd. The Absurd.
People tell you, you must be really intelligent to be depressed. To others, you look for attention, so you lock yourself away in your room hiding away from a society that is just now realizing mental disorders do exist. They think you're lazy.
Demons keep you up at all hours of the night, like the wind rustling at your locked window during a terrible thunderstorm-- begging to get in. You keep thinking, "Oh, why can't I be normal?"
Sometimes, during the day, to escape this reality you sleep through classes, no motivation to open your eyes. Sleep, the cousin of death-- death with benefits. The pills the psychiatrist prescribed make the fears so much worse, so close to taking all of the pills, lying on the cold, hard floor in your room... Tears streaming down your face.
But, when you are awake, maybe you wear all black to disappear from the eyes of the world-- no one looks twice at an outcast.
Or, maybe you try to blend in, wearing bright or pastel colors that normal people wear and put in a happy mask, only to tear it off in the late night and cry yourself to sleep.
your deadened eyes.
It's so hard to sleep when these black figures,
these demons,
whisper into your ears-- validating the fears you have,
the hope that causes your heart to rise with joy
that things will get better,
then fall...
as those fears turn into a depressing
reality that your mind
cannot escape.
Fear of living. Fear of dying.
The ultimate decisions. The Absurd.
The Absurd.
People tell you, you must be really intelligent
to be depressed.
To others, you look for attention,
so you lock yourself away in your room
hiding away from a society that is
just now realizing
mental disorders do exist.
They think you're lazy.
Demons keep you up at all hours of the night,
like the wind rustling at your locked window
during a terrible thunderstorm-- begging to get in.
You keep thinking,
"Oh, why can't I be normal?"
Sometimes, during the day, to escape this reality
you sleep through classes, no motivation to open your eyes.
Sleep, the cousin of death-- death with benefits.
The pills the psychiatrist prescribed make the fears so much worse,
so close to taking all of the pills,
lying on the cold, hard floor in your room...
Tears streaming down your face.
But, when you are awake,
maybe you wear all black to disappear from the eyes of the world--
no one looks twice at an outcast.
Or, maybe you try to blend in,
wearing bright or pastel colors that
normal people wear and put in a happy mask,
only to tear it off in the late night
and cry yourself to sleep.