They called it a Demon.
It was living inside me, breathing down my neck.
It made me pick up a knife and cut myself.
Day in and day out, it taunts me and reminds me that I should be dead.
They called me a Demon
For being like this.
For having this thing inside me.
I cannot destroy it, only live with it.
The Demon's name is Depression.
I take pills to be able to control it.
They don't understand it.
They don't understand me.
The fact that they caused it is enough to hang me.
Telling me that I am ungrateful and bratty.
Do they need a reminder on the way they hurt me?
Depression isn't what you claim it is.
