'The soul gets eaten by depression
And depression usually wins because the soul doesn't fight back'
Is it easier to give up?
To let the monsters win?
Is it easier to loose your lungs to cigarettes?
Your kidneys and liver to drinkable poison?
Your blood and skin to a knife or razor?
Your happiness for others unworthy to take?
Your piece of mind to mean gestures?
It is, isn't it?
Ever wondered why?
Me too.
Why is it easier to say the worst things about yourself before the best?
Why is it easier to announce your flaws before your best qualities?
Why is it easier to isolate yourself before opening up to others?
Why is it easier to let your darkest feelings burn inside you instead of extinguishing them?
This is for the ones who need to be 'part plastic to feel fantastic'
For the ones who rather bare a painted face to the world than their own everyday
For the ones who don't wear the ideal clothing size and type for all people
For the ones who's skin takes on a different hue
For the ones that finds love in another gender
For the ones who aren't like everyone else, either physically or mentally
For the ones that feel like there's no escaping the monsters that plague their minds
Are we too different for this world?
