How am I always the martyr?
The test drive before the real thing.
The girl you feel you can practice on
before you give the real one a ring.

The girl who saw the potential
of a college student, unemployed.
Why does everyone else get the husband
and all I ever get is the boy?

Every one after me gets the house,
the dog and the white, picket fence.
How come everybody else just gets everything
and all I ever get is the rest?

I’m always just a stepping stone.
I’ll just be somebody else’s ex.
I always show people how to love
and then they use it on their next.

it's a thing called depression
it crushes you down
squeezes at your throat so tightly
you're on the brink
only you can tip the scale
off the ledge
salvation is a hoax

this bitter temperamental thing
it deteriorates the brain
happiness bleached from memories
weaving into your form
gripping into the gaps of your flesh
holding you captive- capturing you
and gently lapping the life out of you