Depression has finally turned around for me,
Picked me up from mine broken spot,
Shattered heart, the cage my soul lay trapped in.
Pretty butterflies were left by me to rot,
Thine song has ended, the violin crumbling, my dance crooked,
Don’t pull me in,
Let me be.
Thou sweet decay, this paradox on my sun burnt-skin.
Depression and I, woven tightly, as if in a tin,
Now I dance like this,
Song for myself,
Don’t pull me in,
Let me be.
Awaiting mine lovely, silent day,
When mine own breath is free, the last, single, rotten breath,
And when the salty tears no longer wet my tongue.
The air has lost,
Forgotten, the wetness of thou lips,
Eyes closed, still, lo the frost.
Standing, no longer me,
Thus a ghost,
Muddy silhouette,
Always in the background,
Always trying,
To appear less and less.
                                           -**Firefly