Its so dark!
Its not the state of darkness
That I hate;
Its the fear it brings with it..
The fear of not knowing
Were I am.

Wow!
You are so bright!
Straight from the abyss of
My darkness
You light me up.

Yet,
Its still dark.
Its not the darkness
That I hate;
Its the fear it brings with it..
The fear of not knowing
Were I am going.

So be light,
Take today and
Illuminate me
From the dangers of yesterday
Through to the hopes of tomorrow.

Sure*, at first it's easy
Suppress the feelings
Drown the world out with
Music, but soon
It gets harder and harder
And harder and you need
To voice it out, to tell someone
That's alright, tolerable
But what worries me is
In the end, how will I cope?
When not even music can
Drown my own thoughts out?
What will I resort to?

I had stepped the footfalls a million times yet never herd them echo as hauntingly as they did at this very moment.
I had gone mad but unlike most I was fully aware of my condition I simply didn't care of it's effect on others.

The streets were empty and my footsteps easily herd for all and not a single soul to give a **** about .
I took the final swig from the pint then threw it against the wall in the alley.

Let them wake for those who sleep are happy to only exist.
Few people ever truly live.
They dream why dream when you can do?

Cowards they all were I feared nothing and didn't allow myself to be shamed into repressing my wants .
A book no matter it's age is simply just that powerless without the reader.

Follow nothing but the whim of your every desire .
I haunted these streets and laughed at the fools I disturbed far to eager to return to the factory then drop dead when they retire .

How I yearned to set them free.
Isn't it funny how reasonable insanity can truly be?

You love your earthly endeavors
Forgetting what is really dear..
As your reflection reflected in the mirror
Projection...fragile ego and fear..

You tried to be strong for yourself
Bearing the burden you've left..
Scarred your flesh with pride and greed
Never sought for atonement with the coldness you've felt...

You tried to be weak for their empathy..
As you cage your soul with lies you knew
Leaving nothing but animosity..
To you and everyone around you.

We've prayed for you to change
Still your pride prevailed..
For only you, yourself could help you
And not the temporal fancies you hail..

Rather suddenly he said:

"What if depression is some kind of middle class *******? Like, for people like us...novelists, dramatists- so we can still write somewhat interesting **** about ourselves even though we don't... I don't know, have some sufficiently dramatic background story? Have you ever figured how many kids in the world are born into armed conflicts? Or survived an encounter in a plastic ******* bag on their first birthday?

We can't write about that because we don't know jack **** about it. But it's really, really difficult to read something that's not in some way about you. Do you know what I mean? So you and I, the lucky ones, we have to write stories that we can read. Stories about people likes us: the lucky ones. And to make **** like that interesting we need depressed guys with psychiatrists.

So yeah... I'm probably not depressed. At the very least, perhaps desperate for a story."