Thursday, October 22, 2009

The Depressive Embraces His Condition

I just can’t get up in the morning.
My family whispers, it’s bad.
There’s things you can’t fix
I just turned fifty six
And I scream all the time in my head.

I just can’t get up in the morning.
I know that I’m losing my mind
I’m just at the age
When my father’s long rage
Exploded and left us behind.

Now I just can’t get up in the morning.
It’s comforting here in my bed.
I think I’ll just lie here
And probably die here
Reading books that I’ve already read

I just can’t get up in the morning.
I’m tired of fighting the fight.
It’s beyond my endurance
But I’ve got good insurance
So my family might be alright.

I just can’t get up in the morning.
But I tell myself, just one more time.
Maybe god still exists
And he’s stopped being pissed
At me. Right. Everything will be fine.


I just can’t get up in the morning
Unless I take handfuls of pills.
I wish I had courage
To slip off my moorage
Like my father, but I lack his will.

I cannot get up in the morning
But I do. I stand up, I get dressed.
& I head down the hall
Scratching nose, ass and balls.
If I itch, then I am. Not dead yet.

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