What is it to you if I pick myself up from the ground?
The only comfort I can rely on anymore is this floor.
Every day, every night I float over my limp body.
Watching for movement in my limbs or chest.
What is it to you if I won't take medication?
I may just like the chemical imbalance in my brain
The black hole eating away at my stomach.
I won't dare compromise my emotions for you.

I like this cold concrete
I like the mood swings
I like overbearing abnominal pains.

Finding comfort in depression.