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by Dark Lord Dec 17, 2020
Sadness, depression /
This mask that I wear, is cracked and it’s broken,
The words that I think, are not the ones spoken.
The depression it hits, like a slap in the face,
I reach for my pills, my last saving grace.
After a few hours, they finally kick in,
The depression leaves, slowly within.
I start feeling better, but still not complete,
To rid of these thoughts, is no simple feat.
They stay in my head, all the day long,
Repeating over, like the chorus to a song.12-07-20
by Ben Pickard
Those pills only numb the pain, don't they? But there's always that damned dull ache that hums incessantly somewhere in the background.
I was sorry to read this. However, it was very well rhymed throughout which I always enjoy.
by Maple Tree
This is why you play Weird Al.... because the beat uplifts you.
When you write in beautiful rhyme, your soul lets go of the sadness, love this poem!