All consuming, absolute continuing sadness
It never seems to resolve itself

Go through the motions to get to the next day
And you eat, sleep, go to school, repeat
Until one day you think you've made it

But then you'll look at the photographs on your wall
And you'll smoke a cigarette
Nostalgia will begin to set in your mind
You'll sit beside your two-story foot window and remember just over a year ago how you made a trip out of one; the attempt to commit your ****** life to hell

Oops.
Then you'll get anxiety because you threw away all your razors and you'll panick

You'll lie down and cover your head with all your blankets and you'll forget
you'll forget
to eat, sleep, go to school, repeat

And you won't make it
Because sadness is sickness

The kind that is terminal