That which does not kill us
Often makes us wish it had
The emptiness we're left with
In our souls will make us sad

A deep, dark hole
The place we call depression
The place where we all judge ourselves
This court is now in session

We judge, we rule, we execute
And try though we might
Depression still sweeps over
As we lie alone at night

Thinking no-one loves us
Thinking no-one cares
Thinking no-one listens
To our desperate, earnest prayers

Begging for forgiveness
For the things we haven't done
Crimes gone uncommitted
All except for one

The crime of persecution
Of our minds and of ourselves
Questioning our motives
And building our own Hell.
posted by 123454321 at 9:09 PM