raw

I feel as I died when spring began,

the sun tries to fix my soul in vain

morning routine every day is the same

to the previuos day, I say.
sadness is not as good as they write

in their books 'bout shades of white

no one hears pain in my heart every night

similar to the previous pain.
what's wrong with me, why did I fall so deep

to the depression's toxic pit

some sort of poisonous harmful weed

raised in my mind, I have to spit
it.