Now we're both here, except I'm lying here dead in a casket and you're standing here crying out my name. You just shout out how I should have just told you I was depressed. Yet you'll never understand how hard it is to even want to admit it. And now you're mad at your dead friend. But you're too blind to see you should be mad at yourself for not seeing it before not at me for being so scared to show it.
YOU ARE READING
The Sad Truth
ŞiirThis book has sad/deep/depressing poems and/or storys. (These are things I usually feel most days writing about it makes me feel good about myself again.) Enjoy
