I'm not depressed,
I'm just misplaced.
It's not disaster,
Just disgrace.
So get me out,
Before I break.
I'm not depressed,
I'm just misplaced.

Isn't it weird
To think
That behind a pale a white shell,
Is a life?
Occasionally,
A cake,
Or an omlet,
Or thousands of other foods,
That I will spare your time and not list.
But isn't it weird to think,
Of the possibilities behind an egg?

You're like an old sweater.
I only see you when it's cold.
Each stitch, braid, and knit,
Delicately weave our memories,
Into a string of warmth and comfort.

But it's an old sweater.
Meaning that there are holes,
And places where the stitches become undone,
Like the relationship that we once shared.

So yes,
You're an old sweater.
Maybe one that I bought at a thrift shop,
Because even though I wore you,
You were never really mine.

The small town,
Perfect place to sit and watch life go by.
The high school halls,
Wide and barren,
Perfect place to waste away.

I feel like I'm sinking,
Or is the ground rising?
Higher and higher,
I fall deeper below.

I feel like I'm losing,
Or is everyone winning?
Grabbing and taking,
Oh, where will I go.

Feelings are thoughts that come alive.
And thoughts are feelings we try to deny,
But in the end it's just a lie.
No where left for us to hide.

So here I am...
Trying to construct a plan,
A masterpiece,
A map of words to unravel the chaos of my thoughts.  
The mind does not stop.
The mind does not go back.
The mind does not erase.

And it was nice being away from my personal hell for a few weeks. Not a care in the world, not a cloud in the sky, only millions of stars and trillions of opportunities. Nothing to regret, nothing to dread. Nothing tying me down, like the dreary place in which I've returned. Because there's school, and work, and sometimes life gets in the way of our happiness, and it's hard to make our happiness our lives.