Sick in the heart.
Perpetual darkness pulses through my bruised up veins.
Blood work seems to take forever.

Heathens cast the first stone and burn me at the stake.
Like the filthy witch I've become.

But in vain, I've been incinerating in silence.
Since you left me here with these vampires.
Hungry for the essence of my spirit.

Depression is, living in a snowglobe.
Watching the world move around you.
While you're dealing with the guilt
of waking up disappointed for being alive.
Mania is just making up for lost time.

When you've been sick for so long.
That it feels more normal than anything.
A high functioning, hot mess.
As my mind runs in circles, on repeat.
Like a cursed pendulum.
Tomorrow's dissapointments are none of today's business.

Depression is living in a snow globe.
Trapped within the glass like a prisoner.
Staring at the world before you.
As you brace for the storm to hit.

Waiting for the light
to shine through.
The cracks of broken glass
I've become accustomed to living in.

I'm not really sure how to feel Anymore.
Like screaming help in a room full of deaf people. This is starting to feel hopeless.

I can feel the pressure
of 30,000 leagues
before I see you.

Crushing bones and spirit.
With omnipotent force.

The crucifixion of my heart.
At the hands of the Cinderella complex.
An empire in which I do not have a home.
Unwelcome and unwanted.
My Prince Charming,
is nothing more than a nice thought.