How many more thoughts do I have to trash
Before I’m impressed enough to hold on to them
I’ll admit I’m pretty afraid
That the things inside aren’t precious enough to mean anything
I really miss when I was more attached
Nothing means anything but everything matters
If there’s even an answer out there I don’t know that it would help
Maybe it would solve all of my problems
But maybe it would just make me more aware of the flaws
I am grateful for many things
I feel guilty when I complain
In the end it leads to frustration
Because others starving doesn’t make my depression feel any better
I want, or maybe I need, to express myself
But I am so afraid to do that
I especially don’t want to be hated
But I guess in the end somebody always hates you
A lesson could be taken from our shallow pop stars
To ignore the hate and just be yourself
If only I could do that
Our Depression 