I'm depressed.
I'll say it,
I'm depressed.
I got so used to focusing on the demons that live inside me and forgot to project.
But now, I don't even have to say anything
people can just see it.
I'm in bed all the time but I never sleep,
I want to but I'm too busy thinking.
I never speak,
I'm too busy thinking.
Trying to hide this art on me,
counting calories,
pretending that I'm not on the verge of a breakdown.
You'll still break me,
you had no problem pulling the last string.
I'm over you,
just not over the pain you put me through.
It feels everlasting
because I have told myself
that everything is my fault.
"You didn't do anything",
I had to have done something,
you wouldn't have left if I didn't do anything to make you leave.
I wasn't enough yet I was too much,
there is always something wrong with me.
I'm depressed.
I'll say it,
I'm depressed.
But you didn't hesitate to slit my wrists for me.
