"All ears to me, I have problems"
Says the irrefutably woeful girl.
She'll expel her lungs powerfully,
Informing those around her how
Obviously, terribly, depressed she is.

Her friends will know!
Her family will know!
Her cats will know,
and the dogs too, will know!
But do they really know?

Do they know she's waiting?
Waiting indeed for a response
Other than "I'm sorry",
More than those lackluster words
That even her cats could mew.

In her mind she's begging for love.
For attention.
For a purpose.
But instead of drive from this disposition,
She sulks, she whines
She drags others down.

Like a benign tumor
She worries all she infects
With her seeking gaze
And obligatory wretchedness.
So they too feel her discomfort.
So they too might feel bad for her,
Like she does for herself.

Worried one day they'll all disappear
Like birds in her winter
She doesn't realize she's
Always
Winter.