There has to be more to life
than trying to afford a life.
In constant despair
from status control,
my money shouldn't define
whether I do time
or eat tonight...
or see some grass
on the other side of the world.
I want to be happy,
so why do I find it so unattainable?
Next thing I know,
I'm telling people I'm depressed.
I say the word so much,
I begin to identify, as a crutch.
Excuses come flooding,
then I start running
and getting high on drugs.
Antidepressants
from a doctor who knows no other way.
I can't be mad, though.
I'm the same,
except all I know is pain.