After he died, I spent two and a half years in my bed. The doctors said I was depressed. I think I was just tired.
I rose out of that coffin of satin sheets with a lot of coffee and some diet pills. I didn't climb back in for six months. The doctors said I was an insomniac. I think I was just pensive.
I eventually fell back in with too much Lunesta and some cough syrup. I finally started having dreams again but I couldn't decievere them from my reality. The doctors said I had severe anxiety. I think I just had a good imagination.
I cut until my bones ached. They called me suicidal but I think I was just bored.
I drank until my insides began to drown. They called me an alcoholic but I think I was just thirsty.
I stopped eating until my ribs stuck out. They called me anorexic but I think I was just lazy.
I said I ******* loved you. I said I'd always miss you. I said I really needed you. You thought I was just messed up & confused. But I think I saw you holding the rope that could pull me out of rock bottom.

Well heyyyy, what I think
never really matters anyway.