Fri, 11/23/2018 - 23:43 -- kaycas

When you are young

Misquotes choose the victim 

While everyone is playing outside 

There is one friend that will be eaten alive 

While everyone else is fine


Once you are grown 

Depression is the chooser

While everyone dances the night away 

There is one friend dead on the inside

While everyone else feels alive 


Misquotes do not prey on specific blood types

So why am I consistently attacked?


Depression does not cling to specific genes

So why am I constantly blue?


Why me...?

I will never truly know.

This poem is about: 


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