Happinessless.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Ugh. Depression.

Submitted: April 01, 2008

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Submitted: April 01, 2008

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You wake up in a backstroke position;
tight eyes wrapped around the goodbye of a dream
with watered down exceptions of the living easy.
But it's not easy living in a slippery state,
listening to my suede mistakes like the counterfeit leather
jacket that never fit you right with your denim jeans.

You say you're tired of being depressed;
I tell you to hold onto me.
But I've always been no good with semantics.
I speak tragic when I mean happy.

I cured my alcoholism with a self help book;
added fire to the flame that was once undercooked
by the freezing touch of our tomb-like skin.
But no matter how long I practice revival;
you were always the strong, silent type
holding quiet eyes in the loudest rooms.

I say I'm tired of being depressed,
but I have no one to hold onto me.
I've always been no good with semantics.
I speak tragic when I want happy.

(Copyright)


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