Melodramatic Musings on Depression

Wed, 02/25/2015 - 13:57 -- truthv

My life's a Friday night
But it feels like a Sunday morning
Like wasted potential and wasted time
And wasted youth and wasted rhyme
All waste, all the time

And there are days and weeks when you're so blue
Enough to make a bluebird ashamed
And there are days and weeks and months and years
Lost to nothing and lost to your fears
And if you had all that time back
You know you could make it count

You know you could make it count

Instead there's just the clock and that tick's the only count
You have to measure those blank days
And it's rushing by
You know you're on a deadline
So much to do in so little time

And am I waiting for a sign
Or am I waiting for a train
Or am I waiting for an end to all pain
Am I waiting for something that won't come
Or am I just waiting because I'm numb
And waiting's all I know how to do
I'm waiting for something
It is not you

When your mind is a maze it's all you can do
To pick a direction and let your feet lead you
Hoping that they will lead you through
Standing still is the one thing that will see you dead
There’s a door somewhere
Maybe it’s a shot to the head

Or maybe it’s right in front of you
Close enough, but with feet of lead
There’s nothing you can do
Feet of clay could see you through
But it’s a funny thing when the game is such a bore
That you can’t even fake it anymore

This poem is about: 
Me

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