Something funny I’ve noticed is that when people are honestly just sad about something they tend to use hyperbole and end up saying things like, “I’m so depressed!”

…and what’s strange is that when people are honestly very depressed they also tend to use hyperbole and end up saying things like, “I’m sad.”

Depression
is not romantic
it is not
tear drops on rusty guitar strings
accompanying a soft trembling voice
it is not
cigarette smoke from soft lips
highlighted by pale moonlight through the window
it is not
bitter black coffee in recycled paper cups
discussing how much it can compare itself to you
it is not
somber solace found in between the lines she wrote
displayed as the flower-adorned suicide note you hang in your locker
it is not
being held as you weep
your lover's soul pouring into your cold body
it is not
a gentle touch wiping away your tears
and fixing what was never broken
it is not
romantic at all
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that my depression
is a human
or any sort of noun
when you've never felt it verb
through your temples
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that there's anything
romantic
about it

I don’t know what to write today.
So I don’t.
But I will again.
And then I won’t.

Your passion for knowing,
that’s what I love.

An elderly couple,
In a car,
On a highway,
And two old bikes strapped to the rear.

she can swallow knives.
and every lie she made in her life.
every scam she's played...to get her way.
all the mistakes she's claimed, day after day.
she can choke on her words, that she'll never get to say.
the words that would say sorry, for the game she's played.
i hope she know's that i knew the truth.
i only kept quiet to stay away from you.
to stay away from someone's face.
that would cry if i told her place.
if i let her know what was really going on.
i can't do that now, that's why i write this song.
to let you know i'm better now.
you'r evil ways never brought me down.
now you'r gone with regret.
and i'm happy not to ever see you again.
so here it is.
our last goodbye.
she can swallow knives, and continue to swallow lives.

I was no tiny dancer.
Maybe, once,
before you and me.
Maybe I pointed my toes and held my head high.
But I forgot how to pirouette and jete.

I know you thought you held me up.
I know you thought you fixed me.
But, my little partner,
you never stood a chance.
I'm sorry, my darling.
I tripped into your arms and you did all you could.
You held me crying and watched me dress.

I loved the lilies.
Even though they never came,
I loved the lilies.

I'm so sorry, Tom,
that when I tripped, I knocked you down.
I'm sorry I chened into someone else's arms
to learn how to dance again.

I hope someday you find a partner.
I hope she loves your lilies.
I hope she loves your danse russe.

Today I found out that I am alone.
No one to turn to,
and no where to call home.

I don't know what I care about.
What I don't care about.
I'm taking a break from this paper,
that I certainly don't care about,
nor do I not care about.
So this is it.
These words on this paper.
This is what stresses.
How ******* stupid.