Rage Almighty - Depression (Spoken Word) | Текст песни

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• Rage Almighty
• Depression (Spoken Word)

Do you know what depression feels like?
It feels like a thousand pound weight holding your body down in a pool of water, barely reaching your chin.
So no matter how bad your neck hurts you gotta keep your head up to survive.
It’s looking at the sky, seeing how far away heaven is from you right now.
It’s how much you hate now, and every second after it.
It’s the feeling after you realize that one thing that you want so passionate is drifting past your tips and each time you reach to grab it you get a mouth full of water and you sacrifice drowning.
Depression is the pressure bouncing against your chest, asthmatic, air keeps seeping in even though I don’t want to breathe again.
Depression is finally falling asleep and waking up so pissed off for no apparent reason in the morning.
It’s a constant state of mourning, when the only thing that died is your pride.
It’s pushing everybody that loves you as far away from you as humanly possible cause I don’t deserve them.
Desert them before they desert me.
It’s quicksand sinking, it’s feeling alone in a room full of people.
It’s alright… yeah, I’m okay.
No, really, really, I’m good.
It’s applying a clown face and pretending everything is cool and content when you know you will explode any minute.
Depression is four hydrocodones, two x pills, and a poetry show.
Feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world.
It’s tears that will never fall from your cheek, fear of adding to the water that I’m already chin deep in…
Yeah, I wanna die but not that way.
Maybe Kurt Cobain like, possibly Chris Benoit type, partly Chris Farley.
Feeling like the biggest clown in the smallest circus.
Worthless.
When will my best be good enough anyway?
It’s being afraid, of being alone, with your own thoughts in an empty apartment but not wanting anyone around you.
It’s going to the bathroom in total darkness not wanting to see your own reflection.
It’s taking five showers a day at least and still not feeling clean.
Depression is the demon at the bottom of a Zoloft bottle.
Depression is the reason I called into work today, and yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that.
I could get a hundred hours of sleep and still feel tired as hell.
Searching for a clear definition of self.
It’s the thanks for nothing look you give the people who tell you to pray and everything will be okay, but the only explanation is crazy.
But you wouldn’t call me crazy if you knew how much I hate me.
It’s biting your nails till your fingers bleed, steadily grinding your teeth.

Depression is the reason this poem has no ending.

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