If pain develops character, why am I so lousy?

If love wakes you up inside, why am I so drowsy?

If life is an adventure, I'm a stereotypical hobbit.

If I was holding my own, well then I think I might have dropped it.



I'm walking on eggshells, and they're cutting my bare feet.

I live in a glass house, and it's about to sleet.

Love sets your soul on fire, yet I'm feeling pretty cold.

New dawn, new day, they say, but these nights are getting old.



I've barked up the wrong tree, and I'm being driven to the pound.

Back to the drawing board, but I think I lost my crayon.

I'm having my stomach pumped, cause I bit off more than I could chew.

If actions speak louder than words, then I'm so lazy I'm a mute.



I was burning all my bridges, but then I caught on fire.

I never gave up my day job, I just wasn't ever hired.  

Can't judge a book by its cover, but my story is ugly too.

I would make a play on words, but my theater class is through.  



If love is blind, then why do I have 20/20 vision?

I was accused of cutting class, but I made no such incision.  

In the heat of the moment, my icecream sadly dripped.

Beating around the bush was fine, until I freaking tripped.

  

If clouds have silver linings, then I see an empty sky.

It's hard to keep my head up, while the sun is in my eyes.  

I guess I need to lighten up, but I was saving battery power.

If it's all a piece of cake, I have an allergy to flour.

Falling in love is the stuff of dreams, thought she.

A kiss away, can happily ever after be.

I'll find someone to love, and he will love me.

And we'll exchange thoughts under the weeping willow tree.



But falling in love was not as she had perceived.

A nightmare replaced her broken bright dream.

A woven heart tattered, torn loose at the seams.

And now she weeps with the weeping willow tree.



Paranoia takes root, *Does he even look at me?

Every night, she sinks to her knees.

You may hear her murmur a repetitive Please...

Because hope still lives on in the child that she's.



But as time goes on, she still begs to be free.

Begs for him to look up, to understand and to see.

She begins to wonder, Is something wrong with me?

If he is the victim, am I the disease?



A child nevermore, she no longer believes.

She now understands, I'll never be free.

Trapped in a place she never dreamt she would be.

*Falling in love became the death of me.

DEPRESSION IS BLACK AND WHITE

SOME COLOR WOULD BE FREAKING NICE

LIKE THE CHOCOLATE IN YOUR HAIR

OR THE CHESTNUT IN YOUR STARE

LIKE THE SOFT PINK OF YOUR SMILE

I'LL THINK OF THAT AND FEEL FINE FOR A WHILE

LIKE THE ALMOND OF YOUR SKIN

OR YOUR GREEN JACKET I WISH I WERE IN

THE WARM REDNESS OF YOUR HEART

YES THAT WOULD BE A LOVELY START

THE FIRE BURNING IN MY SOUL

IS A DULL GREY THAT'S GETTING OLD

DEPRESSION IS BLACK AND WHITE

SOME COLOR WOULD BE FREAKING NICE

You're the sun.

So beautifully bright that I have to stare, even though it hurts horribly.

I live in Antarctica, where you only light up my world half of the time and then leave me to suffocate in darkness for months on end.



You're a deer.

Unaware of me observing your adroitness from the dark depths of this brazen bracken which conceals me.

If I make any sort of sudden movement, I know you will sprint away into the trees because you're so afraid of letting anyone get close to you.



You're a puppetmaster.

Pulling at my oh-so-vulnerable heartstrings in the most musical way while creating the most fantastic and addictive art.

Your fingers are magic to me, and their slightest movement can either plunge me into endless despair or **** me up to the most heavenly of all cloud nines.



You're a siren.

Drawing me in with your sweet song only to ultimately unravel me.

You taunt me with colorful hints of false hope, making me wonder if you're really that cruel, or if you're merely  unstable.



You're a child.

So oblivious to the obvious, yet incredibly innocent.

You brighten my day with your silly antics and sweet gestures alike, but you're too enthralled in your own little world to ever notice.



You're Doctor Jekyll.

Always changing your face from friendly to arrogant and asinine, then right back again.

Sometimes I wonder how I could love someone like Mister Hyde, until you turn into the nice guy again and remind me.



You're a weaver.

Excruciatingly twisting the threads of me into the fabric of my being, leaving little streaks of sorrow and joy.

You have shaped this tapestry in the most painful and beautiful way, and without your unknowing influence, it would surely be unrecognizable from its current battered, but unique, condition.





You're a thorny rose I keep trying to pick.



Sending me away ******, bleary-eyed, and smelling sweet.



I wish you could understand how much I need to carry you home.

"Mom and Dad, I'm sorry;
I just can't take it anymore.
If you're reading this,
You must have busted down the door.

For too long I have suffered,
And you have never known.
You never saw that I was slipping,
Never heard a single moan.

All those friends you thought I had,
They were never really there.
But there was another girl-
This one that truly cared.

You may not have noticed,
But this girl cared enough to see
That I was locked up in depression,
And she tried to set me free.

'Don't take yourself from me!"
She begged, shedding another tear.
I told her she was selfish
to ask me to stay here.

Several times, she saved my life,
But this time it was no use.
Tell her not to blame herself;
The world tied my noose.

Tell her that I'm sorry;
I know she'll make it on her own.
Tell her I said, despite the pain,
She's the best friend I've ever known.

I'm sick of gasping at the surface,
so finally, I'll drown.
I'm ready to embrace my death
When silence triumphs sound."