I have these lonely sleeps, as it feels like my depression
is controlling me. The pain is deep; I lose track of time
dancing on my feet—I'd sell my soul for just a night of peace
But I’m not the one talking, it’s just the demons inside of me

My past is dark; a fragile shadow made of glass
the compliments I hear just sound like laughs
I try my best to relax—but it drives me crazy, and I hope
I never crash. But in the end who really forgets their past,
unless of course you never lived the memory, so
you’re always trying to deal with that

                             ~I’m just this constant shadow glass
                                                       hoping not to break
                                                       hopeful not to crack
                                       hopes of repairing shadow glass