I've clipped my own wings,
I can no longer fly.
You can't see the truth;
my face is a lie.

My facade is plain -
it hides my addiction -
exposed by my tears
is a growing contradiction -

Depression is a bliss -
without it I'm nothing;
addicted to sorrow -
loving my suffering -

Wanting true happiness -
empty without pain;
confusion and chaos
eroding my brain.

Almost free
from my unstable emotions,
I expand my torn wings
to remember - they're broken -