DEPRESSION
I try to be a winner
But the cuts on my wrists remind me that I'm a sinner
And perhaps mostly that I'll never get better
And all that I gotta do is write a letter
A suicide letter in which I'll explain how hard I tried
But nothing I ever did worked
Every passing day I'd try another way
But the pain refused to go away
The depression would stick around
Perhaps until I'm undergroud
Alone and in the dark in my new home
Not that it'd make much difference anyway
Only that in my new home
There'd be no more pain
There'd be nothing to explain
Nothing to hide
Nothing to run away from.
This poem is about:
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: