I feel small,
My breath uninhabited by life.
The memory's of my past,
Haunt me and decay my mind.
I will half tired, not awake,
Wander through life.
In a daze I will look for the light,
I am a moth drawn to the flame.
And I will burn up,
If I get too close to finding myself.

I cannot help but be my own destruction.
And with no remorse,
I could smile and leave this life behind.
Playing an old piano,
Running my hands over the worn keys,
I am the one note that is out of tune,
I will never be in harmony.

Let me rest among the worms,
The damp soil will feed me.
And If anyone should ever think of me,
It would be in a passing moment.
Depression is a struggle,
With life and death.