Poison (What depression is)

There's a lot of poison in my head today.
Telling me how I should just hide under the covers.
"Hide" It whispers, "No one wants you. No one likes you."
And as much as I believe it,
Is as much as I don't want to.

Because my laughter tends to hide a lot of things.
Like how apathy likes to sing me to sleep.
How bitterness is normally what keeps me breathing,
And how anger is the only reason why my heart beats.

I'm not complaining.
That’s a lot of motivation for one girl to handle.
But I just like to watch the people walking by,
Wondering how it feels to be in their skin.
To go a day without flinching at your reflection.
An hour. A minute.
A minute.
How sweet and simple sixty seconds used to be.
To not have four thousand things fluttering in my mind.

And I don't remember when it fully started.
When that bull ran into my china shop.
I just know that laying in broken glass isn't the best way to start your day.
Your hour, your minute.
I've talked to psychologists since I was three,
And fifteen years later, I'm just worse off.
Cause now I'm old enough to know;
That stale bubble gum, playdough, and a story, just don't work.
Not when your whale size of a parasite,
Is wedged between you and humanity.

And I guess I make people think.
A little walking, talking, merry little puzzle.
They watch their words, and the energy of them.
And that's something I'm proud of.
That's something I want to hold on to.
But I thought it was ripe, and now it's rotten.

The poison knows this, and whispers it to my heart.
So the anger that runs it, turns inward.
And that’s what depression is.
Yeah. That's what depression does.

I'm waiting to feel whole again.
I just know I can't do it under the sheets.
And thats when I get up and out.
1440 minutes to go,
And then I can call my day done.
Just 1440 minutes, and I'm done.