It comes ever so quietly without so much as a knock, and before you know it, it has engulfed you in its repulsive suffocating lock;
It makes you low, it makes you sad, but worst is when it turns you mad;
Who is mad, but, my heart asks me -- someone who is crazy, someone who shouts and screams, or someone who the world tells you to stay away from, may be?
But aren't those mad who feign happiness, aren't those mad who mock sadness;
aren't those mad who abide by every rule, or the ones who think crazy isn't cool?
Your mind however is too numb to reply, all it wants to do is to lay in the bed and cry;
So you sit in a corner looking into space, or sometimes you stare at the mirror watching your own face;
Some days it looks pretty, some days it looks nice, but on most days it seems like you have put on a disguise;
You do not recognize your own eyes, your nose, your mouth, your silly crooked smile, and it is on these days you know the time has come to stay away from the world or all you will attract from them is despise;
You sulk and you mop, you weep and you cry, but you cannot reach out for help as much as you may try;
You fall you rise, you slip, you hold, but the truth about your mind must never be told.