my room is crowded with feelings,
and all i feel is alone.
my family and friends, they just pretend
that this house was ever a home
my mother, she really does love me.
she's the one who tends to my wounds.
my music in my ear, takes me away from here
even if its a little out of tune.
I could act like a teenage sell out.
I could say that what i feel is unique.
i could wear all black and be an insomniac,
but what good is it to act like a freak?
I cant move away from this damn chair,
I wish i could get up and walk around the room
but my leg still heals, and pain is all it feels,
so one step and it breaks, i assume.
all i can think of is why.
Why me? why myself? why I?
sitting in this chair, in depression, i stare
and i angrily let my life pass me by.
My words are made from depression,
yet all this is is blowing off fumes
but today aint the day, so ill sit here and pray
that ill be able to leave this chair soon