It's an empty sort of sensation;
all thought leaves,
and I am left with nothing,
until this sadness pours into me,
and I'm drowning,
drowning,
drowning...
And with the depression comes envy,
or that is what I suspect it is,
flowing through the river of tears,
wriggling like poisonous electric eels,
taking the form of self-loathing.
Yet I feel no anger towards this pain,
no hatred at the pricks and stings.
The only passion I feel is the one that urges me to destroy myself.
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