I hate opening that door
One moment fine and soon as it's open
I'm dying on the floor
The pressure consumes
Until my mind is no more
I wanna do more
Buts it's kinda hard when you're blacking out
On the kitchen floor.
Life is a chore
No I mean really
Seems like that's all I'm living for
To fold laundry on the living room floor
What's the point I’m living for?
I wanna find something worth living for!
So I started making music
Started writing down everything
Even if it was stupid
Criticism shot me down
Like an arrow from cupid
But I ain't feeling any loving
So I quit it
But that's before I met my best friend
Depression.
We did everything together to no end
We hung ropes and saw how long
We could suspend
Pushed the limits of our deathbed
Like Russian roulette
With a twelve gauge to our head.

I showed him my writing
He started laughing and said it was stupid
I was hoping he would like it
But instead he would just lose it.
He ripped it up and said it was garbage
Then took my vision and enlarged it
Gave me a new view brought by self harming.
He showed me how to write
Took away my pen
and shrouded my light
That loss of sight
Gave me new meaning to my life
I could feel the pain to my left and right
I could relate in ways that weren't clear by sight
So every word I would write had a new message
To relate to the people who I had a connection
That's about when anxiety caught my attention
Now we were the trio
Me, anxiety, and depression.
He was a writer too
But wrote in ways that related me to you
He stayed away from personal
And went into the general view
He knew about things you didn't know about you
He wrote about things that you should do
And things I should say and do
To you and you
I thought it was all in fun
But the police weren't too amused
They searched me
And gave me a calming juice
Just then depression and anxiety left the ruse
They said nothing
But I think they didn't want to get in trouble too.

Few hours later
They returned
Beat me senseless
And said I should I be burned
The friends I thought I had
Had turned
What's worse
They showed me my hearse
In the shape of a curse
Put their spell on me and left me in church.
Their curse made me write
But with every word
It would remind
Me of the times
Where I committed senseless crimes
In the privacy from public eye
Sometimes the curse would make me cry
But the words would still be written
Until the day I die
Words of how much I wanted to die
Verses on how much I hated my life.
I would go into overdrive
And they would consume my mind
I would write and write
Until I was fine.
But with each word wrote
It mentally cut my throat
I was drained of my emotions
I was depressed
Deeper than the oceans.
This ain't just a story
This is me
If this seems boring
This might just not be your scene
If that's the case
There's the door
Feel free to leave.