The Depressed 1

Expressive Decay

 

 

 

The fluidity of my life trickles on

 

Uncontrolled chaos arises like the dawn

 

I try my best to find a way to the top

 

Everywhere I look there is always a stop

 

People look but they do not want to see

 

They do not want to look at the reality of me

 

The cracks in the mirror always tells the truth

 

My last years are foretold by my youth

 

What I was is what I am and always will be

 

A living branch torn from a long dead tree