You don't really know me. You know nothing about the cuts under my sleeve. You have never seen the tears roll down my face. You don't know what I do to feel alive. You don't really know me.
I'm as fickle as a schizophrenic therapist. I make you feel good for fifteen to thirty minutes, then I leave you with the same emotions you had before I came.
A counsellor told me I'm severely depressed, but I just can't believe it. I'm probably just complaining a lot, someone like me wouldn't deserve treatment for something like that.
I keep falling into a medicated daze, thirty minutes after obscene amounts of that sweet co-codamol, I feel it coursing through my veins, it makes me so numb and weak that I no longer have the ability to make sense of anything; feeling nothing is blissful.
I keep falling into a medicated daze, thirty minutes after obscene amounts of that sweet co-codamol, I feel it coursing through my veins, it makes me so numb and weak that I no longer have the ability to make sense of anything; feeling nothing is blissful.