You'd think that
Since the load of stress breaks my
Back with its weight,
That being able to relax would allow me to heal.
But I am lost without the routine of school, as much as I loathe it.
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that
I would be able to swim back up
From the violent ocean of thoughts
I assume other people have about me,
But I'm drowning myself, weighing myself down with my own criticism.
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that having all the free time in the world
To improve my various skills would be A blessing of opportunity,
But perfectionism and laziness grip my Shoulders, breathe into my mind,
"It won't be good enough anyway."
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that
Without anything bad happening,
The contemplation of suicide wouldn't still be smoldering in the back of my mind.
But for some reason I'm blowing on the embers, and coaxing out a blaze...

Depression is funny like that.

The gentle murmur of voices in the kitchen,
The quiet turning of a page,
The reliable ticking of a clock,
The silence of the street outside...
And the unexplainable screaming
in my head.

As Sun retreats
Down into the horizon,
He pulls the blanket of stars
Over the sky.
The residue of his flame is brushed onto the quickly deepening blue.

Moon begins to glide into view, and
Creatures of the night begin to stir,
Recognizing her scent.
Those who basked in Sun's light flee
to the shadows and into their dreams
To hide from her ghostly glow.

This is the special time
Of balance,
And silence,
And stillness.
This is dusk, in all its beauty.

When my eyes are blank,
My breathing steady yet shallow...
There is a special place I go
Deep within my thoughts.
Where I drift alone through darkness,
Hiding
From the world.