Suppose the closest way to death,
That ever shimmering veil....is depression?
I think that's what I’ll do.
On a night’s harsh wind, maybe I'll take
The next road, and walk until morning.
And I'll meet him, the man who does the work
And I'll make him a deal,
I'm not fooling myself.
I know it isn’t real.
But from what I've learnt...hate is ice
And love, wanting, needing her back- is fire.
But I want her back, I want that desire
Because I can't stand being happy, it won't suffice.
Death isn’t something physical- like loneliness.
I am the same person.
I always will be.
But I am…. less.
So I’ll make that man a deal.
I will never smile again.
'I swear to be sad all my life. You win, death'
And so I tumble into depression,
That great wave.
'Listen, I can hear her breath'
