smw66466
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Jul 8, 2012
- Messages
- 30
Depression
1/13/12
I've lost all my hope.
And lost all of my interest.
I just need a little something for me to ingest,
Mind's all dried up, metaphor for the midwest.
These cacti were never taught to take a rest.
They keep swinging and poking.
I think it's a protest.
I swear to the god I don't believe in,
It's fucked up, like incest.
Like paperclips, all twisted and distressed.
Sir or Ma'am, I have a small request.
Please bring me a suitable and comfortable headrest.
Cause' I am so stupidly and overly stressed.
Maybe it's my winter-jacket in this desert,
I'm a little bit misdressed.
Maybe I shoulda picked out my sweater vest.
Didn't look where I was going,
I'm not always the smartest.
Nor the bestest, the fastest, or the strongest.
My brain, these little crickets like to infest.
They make it hard for me to ever take time and in it, invest.
They eat, and they chew, and they violently molest.
In my head, that sickly thought will always be compressed.
You people treat this gift, like it's a contest.
The outerworldy being told me different.
He said we made a big mess.
All of us bombed our arithmetic tests.
Dissapointed, we opened an empty, plastic treasure chest.
Got lost, did not ever finish our main quests.
Words sometimes hurt
They're hard to swallow and digest.
Good thing life is so flexable,
We bend far like gymnasts.
Good thing birds fly when they get shoved out of their nests.
Wish I could be like all of the rest.
But I'll never be happy,
My mind knows the definition of manifest.
It's manifested by pain.
Yeh in pain, it is permanently dressed.
These are the thoughts of a man,
Self-medicated, clinically depressed.
1/13/12
I've lost all my hope.
And lost all of my interest.
I just need a little something for me to ingest,
Mind's all dried up, metaphor for the midwest.
These cacti were never taught to take a rest.
They keep swinging and poking.
I think it's a protest.
I swear to the god I don't believe in,
It's fucked up, like incest.
Like paperclips, all twisted and distressed.
Sir or Ma'am, I have a small request.
Please bring me a suitable and comfortable headrest.
Cause' I am so stupidly and overly stressed.
Maybe it's my winter-jacket in this desert,
I'm a little bit misdressed.
Maybe I shoulda picked out my sweater vest.
Didn't look where I was going,
I'm not always the smartest.
Nor the bestest, the fastest, or the strongest.
My brain, these little crickets like to infest.
They make it hard for me to ever take time and in it, invest.
They eat, and they chew, and they violently molest.
In my head, that sickly thought will always be compressed.
You people treat this gift, like it's a contest.
The outerworldy being told me different.
He said we made a big mess.
All of us bombed our arithmetic tests.
Dissapointed, we opened an empty, plastic treasure chest.
Got lost, did not ever finish our main quests.
Words sometimes hurt
They're hard to swallow and digest.
Good thing life is so flexable,
We bend far like gymnasts.
Good thing birds fly when they get shoved out of their nests.
Wish I could be like all of the rest.
But I'll never be happy,
My mind knows the definition of manifest.
It's manifested by pain.
Yeh in pain, it is permanently dressed.
These are the thoughts of a man,
Self-medicated, clinically depressed.