The little china doll sits on the shelf,
Crying and broken all by herself;
Cerulean tears roll down her cheeks,
Leaving behind salty wet streaks;
A little girl has forgotten her, abandoned and lonely,
She remembers when she was her only;
The china doll shimmies her way to the ledge,
Teetering dangerously on the edge;
It's one final push and shes on her way,
Busted and shattered on the floor she lays.

Who is this girl I see below me who holds this far off stare
She holds no concern for me as I dance through the air

I live in a world of colors far away from pain
I'm not the girl that is constantly trapped inside her own brain

I wander far away in floating fields of cotton
The agony and my blade are long ago forgotten

There is a tugging at my core and I know it's almost time
Her cries pull me back and into her skin I climb.

Eyes as stars in my sky,
music in your oh so contagious laughter that makes my heart punch through my chest.
When I look at you I see a painting of a master, brush strokes that cannot match the wildness of your hair.
My heart belonged to you before you spoke a word;
and my soul called out, feeling as though this was the one.

In your sky, I am no star, but a street lamp, ordinary and forgettable.
Your music is another radio station, playing the hits of another life, where I am but brief static.
You look at me and see a blank page, plain, simple, painfully bare with no idea even needing me.
To you I am nothing, but a face in a sea of people.
My soul lied to me, greedy for love and comfort, it has left me broken over wanting you.
My heart cracks every time I see you and you look through me, a ghost of the present.

Just this once she said, sneaking
down the hall.
Just this once she said, pressed
against the wall.
Just this once she said, leaving
from my room.
Just this once she said, smelling
like my perfume.
Just this once she said, hand
enlocked with mine.
Out of breath she says, maybe one
more time.

Depression is like a having a sweater on, yet still feeling chilled to the bone.
It's like having a raincoat on, but water still manages to slide down your goosebumped back.

Depression is putting on a wet bathing suit.
It's that cold clammy feeling that makes your every hair stand on end.

Depression is driving down a road in thick fog never knowing when the road curves, so you drive like ever yard could send you careening off into the endless abyss.

When you climb out of the pit of melancholy that is depression, you think how could I ever been that sad, yet there is always that gnawing in your mind that you could be right back in there tomorrow.