There must be a method to my madness,
Blinded by rotting, anger and sadness,
Whispers follow as I battle who?
Myself of course, Nothing new.
My own worst enemy I hate myself,
I peel away at the shell, to release from this hell.
But imprisoned in mind, body and soul,
I wither, decay, I'm tired and old.
Fight, fight fight, no matter if I lose,
I might, might, might not so easily bruise,
Eyes are jaded, shadowed gems,
Skin is faded, I won't see light again.
If all one can do is comfort themselves,
What is the point of others? We all live on shelves
Battling my mind, that is mine alone,
Getting through every day, the only company my own.
There is darkness here, there is hate,
I am destined to stay here, this is my fate,
My actions and reactions keep people guessin',
I guess that is why...they call it depression
