It’s the darkness under your bed
Lurking right behind your head
Racking up your brain, forcing you to think insane
Giving rise to your fears, making you feel like shit
It’s the white spots you see when you close your eyes
Not wanting to see anything that reflects light
It’s the puny thoughts of failure, of being alone
Which drag you down to your personal hell
And then they come and say
“Hey, why are you so depressing?”
It’s not m
You, it’s that.
That thing which is dark, circling the drain, about to drown
And you say, “I am sorry for spoiling your mood.”
While dying and withering away in the darkness which is your own.