There is no Elixir for the wounds you inflict
Even if there was
You would have dried up its source long ago

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When depression raises it ugly head
Often its simple cause lies in
The second hand treatment meted
by someone you care.

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Find pleasures in small things in life
In activities that satisfy you
You don't have to be a know it all!

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Sometime you forge ahead saying every thing will be fine
Then you look back for support
And there's none.

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Do what you wanna do, who cares actually.

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­
It is the pain of this mad ache
Which dulls my senses
Highly inebriated, going back for more.*

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