S.A.D

Sometimes it’s a series of speed bumps
Driving 60mph without breaking
Sometimes it’s a hill
With only one side to it, always climbing and fighting
My thoughts away

On some days it’s a slide
A theme park rollercoaster ride
My hands and hair up high in the air
Then I crash

It’s black
The emptiness, the speed bumps and hills all come back
I’m near enough dead, my souls starting to rot
Hanging off a cliff just waiting to drop

Flashing in front of my eyes
the grey images of life
Played on repeat like a torture
in a concentration camp
However
I just cannot die