The Bloody Doors Off

No lyrics today.

No videos.

No bullshit.

Today’s been rough.

Since I woke up.

Even went back to bed.

Got an extra… 90 minutes?

Didn’t help.

On the verge of tears.

But they won’t come.

They never do.

Stupid anti-depressants.

I don’t know why.

I’m sad.

Just am.

Walked the dog earlier.

Good, warm breeze.

Sun on my face.

Didn’t help.

I’ve eaten.

I tend to skip lunch.

Not today.

Nope.

Doing what I’m supposed to.

I just wish I knew.

That I could understand.

It’s more than.

A chemical imbalance.

It’s gotta be.

I can’t accept that I’m sad.

Because a lone neuron didn’t fire.

Or too many did.

I want ice cream.

Ice cream makes things better.

You’ve never heard of.

Ben & Jerry’s “Tears of a Clown” flavour.

Salted caramel.

‘Cuz they’re tears and make-up.

Seems I’ve kept my dark humour.

Intact.

One upside.

It doesn’t equate to 2017’s depression.

Couldn’t stop crying back then.

Got my heart broke.

GP takes blood before he puts me on Zoloft.

Calls back urgently.

Type 2 diabetes.

Everything changed.

Ended up on short-term disability.

Couldn’t work.

Right now, I’m craving work.

To distract me.

Keep me busy.

No time to sink into self-pity.

One upside.

Haven’t heard a peep.

From Harold.

Small victories.

Hold onto that.

So.

No lyrics today.

No videos.

Just me.