Depression (They Never Listen Anyway)

The world goes round and still I keep chasing after the things that will
never happen. I seek for tomorrow for a better day not imagining how life could
possibly be without the endless goal I am reaching for. I speak smartass remarks
to block off the truth from my mind. I say things that I don’t mean to give you
a chance to underestimate what I really wanted to say. I’m not crazy; my voice
is just not loud enough for the world to hear. So I scream like today is the
last day to say what is on my mind and I break things like the broken heart I
have tried to repair so many times. It’s going to be okay, they never listen
anyway.

The world goes round and I get to see it all from a blocked
window in my bedroom. I listen for a whisper coming from the walls but all I
hear are the dogs barking at a couple of thugs searching for crack. I never have
understood the concept of an addiction. Maybe it simply wasn’t made for me. No
luck in relationships, it seems to always be just me. “It’s not you, it’s me.”
“Well fuck me; we can talk later…fuck you it can never last forever. There is
no such thing, just heartaches, weak stomachs and broken promises.” “Let us just
be friends” Well if you view things that way… I can’t change everything about me
to make you happy. Accept me for who I am…useless.

Writing makes me
feel like a new person. It takes the stress away. It helps me remember about the
reasons why I am upset and I stop blaming myself. Things hardly ever seem to
end. History seems to keep repeating itself again. Karma is a bitch, especially
when you have fucked people over…it comes back and bites you in the ass…
hardly anyone gets away.

I will have to admit it, I tend to get crazy,
but it doesn’t occur all the time. I bottle up my problems until I can not feel
anymore. Then I blow up in your face like a fucking grenade. I can not help it
when I cry… I keep to much shit inside to just keeping ignoring the fact that
I feel like shit. It’s not easy for me to ignore the things that bother me, but
you will never hear me say a thing…until I get tired of it. Not anymore…they
never listen anyway.

Still, I listen to the radio most of the day; they
play the same songs repeatedly…it’s annoying. I have learned to eventually block
off the lyrics and just listen to the tune. I rock out to the piano that sways
my mind to a place where I forget the feeling of being in. My body dances with
the music and my mind secretly makes up its own words.

I like to look up
at the stars, I love those walks on the beach holding my special some ones hand.
I enjoy making and looking at art and I love poetry. I take things for granted
and I apologize too much. I deserve some of the things that have happened to
me…it’s all in the book. I have decided upon the stars that I’m dying, but who
isn’t. No really, I am, slowly but surely, I am growing weaker within each day.
I can not stand being who I am. I want to make the world a better place. The way
it looks, the world is just going to get worse. I’ve tried to make my image look
more attracting. Nothing I do will make me look like the girls you see in the
magazines. They show their bones, plastic perky breast and fake smiles, it’s not
me. I seem to be the complete opposite of what you see in them. I carry extra
weight and my tits are not perfect…my smile is real unless I am upset.

I get the feeling that I am a bad influence. I have ruined beautiful
things and I make the ugly things look so wonderful. I see right past the people
who care so much for me and concentrate on making those who don’t give a damn
about me look at me.

I hate playing games in relationships yet, you will
see that I am the best one to play them. I am a hypocrite. I have cheated, I
have been played myself, I have lied, I have sinned but then again, so have
they. I keep so many secrets that I get lost in them. I live my life in a dream
that I confuse my reality to them. I speak like I know nothing when inside, I
know every move. I’m smart but keep things quiet, it’s okay…they never listen
anyway.

The world goes round and I keep watching through the blocked
windows of my bedroom. It’s hard to come out when all of the whispers tell you
they hate you for being who you are. Not perfect… just you. But it’s okay
because you never listen to them anyway.

Advertisements

About this entry