Confessional

Look at my eyes they tell the story of depression and pain,
I’ve lost so much, but had little gain, only feelings of pain.
Feel my hands, they’re so cold, they didn’t used to be,
Read my writings, they contain dark and cynical words in abundance.
I sketch a ragged, ripped heart, I sigh and erase it, no escape,
Feel it draining me everyday, no rest, zero sleep, feelings so deep.
I’ll be fine, as I often say, the truth I don’t know whether I’ll stay,
I lay in bed and pray, but still feel no change, I’m speaking to the ceiling.
I sit on my bed and think of empty things, and dream of better times,
Maybe they’ll come when I cum, maybe they’ll come when I behave,
Maybe they’ll come when my hands wander, and please another,
Or maybe I’ll be just a wretched person for all of time.