We like to talk about
The parts of depression
That we can make beautiful
The tortured artist
The rainy day tears
But we don't talk about
The uglier, dirtier parts
The recklessness
And lack of care
For your safety
Because being alive
Is not worth the effort
Hell, even the scars
Can be glamorized
But there is nothing pretty
About walking, drunk
To a gas station
In the middle of the night
For cigarettes though
You know you shouldn't
"Those things'll **** you," they say
"Only if I'm lucky" you mutter
Under your breath
As you walk away