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 could keep ignoring the facts.
Disregard, every red flag you
wave in front of my face.
Only to pretend things are alright
until I go off the edge.
But doesn't that seem obnoxious?
I'd rather be alone.

For every step I take,
I can feel my feet slipping
back three.

I'm at the end of my rope.
But my noose isn't even tied yet.

Living in a snow globe.
Watching life around me blossoming,
beautifully.
But when I try and reach out.
My hands hit the glass and stop me dead in my tracks.