The one with depression
I’ve come to the end of my days
My little short fuse of a time is to fly
stopped searching for the cave in which it lays
all my sorrows, where the last tears are drawn from
where all the pictures of the past have lost their smile
where the black ink has started to dry
It is but a scissor I need to cut off this red
To let it breathe with a new breath so fresh
To paint it a new tear never to be shed
But the cold water that lies beneath the sand
it is to rise above, to climb, and withstand
It is to steal my dreams of visiting the celestial land
Help me god, let me grab your hand
Before this whisper of fear is caught by one’s ear
Let it be my last breath released into the air
Let me leave you in peace, be the dead man that is all but dread
Let me be a harmony and you the testimony of my absent quiver
Let me show you my happiness where I can finally forgive her
Let me be the full stop of this dreadfully long sentence filled with horror
Let me grab my binoculars and become an explorer
Of what is unknown, for it could be the restorer
Let me hang this soaked black coat, so the ache can be wiped away
Become the dessert where it is always sunny, bleached, and gay
Be the fearless golden spirit that is to fly today