Sadness it not ranting your anger,
getting out what drives you insane,
or how you will end your life,
true sadness is that which drives you.

Hiding in dark alleys,
smoking rock just to escape
reality, and its pain,
loading up on prescriptions your not supposed to have,
but still do,
or even the ones you are.
That's sad.

Sadness is running blades through your arms,
as opposed to across or with the veins,
and hiding it,
but given the chance you're caught,
some stupid little thing
that people are looking too much into,
something like
"I was in a parking lot,
after the game friday night,
got a little drunk, had some fun with the guys,
slipped and fell of some broken beer bottles"
something so retarded, but still could happen
yet you know its a lie, and it eats at you,
so you tear up inside,
go to the closest dark space,
do it again for being so disgraceful.

Depression is going out,
dancing at night on the local speedway,
waiting for some person asleep at the wheel
to take your life,
or flipping on xanax,
jump in the car,
drive it to god knows where,
until you fall asleep,
until you end up ended over in a ditch,
not knowing how you got there,
or why you're bleeding,
why you're at the hospital blowing.48 on BAC,
just for washing pills with that old turkey.
Then terrors huanting every slept moment,
damning the thorazine dream,
flashing back to all the acid you used to run,
then, going home tasting of cahrcoal,
and vomit,
then finding the next thing to do it over,
only because you don't care if you're there,
the only thing that matters is
that you're home and you infant daughters missed you,
and their mother can't explain daddy wants to die,
because you're superman in their eyes,
and you still feel no remorse for your action,
but hit the cabinet, and get with your drinking buddies,
good old, Jim, jack, Johnny, and Jose,
getting them with some of that green peace,
trying to forget the problems that drive you mad,
Not always certain what they are.

That is depression, melancholy, sadness,
or whatever you want to call it.

Sadness, is not,
last night in the darkness of my room,
I ran the fiery blade upon the sheeth of my vein,
Crying tears of all that's been,
knowing my worst of sins,
and having it in reference to getting a bad grade,
or your dream date not taking you to prom,
maybe something a little more vital,
mom or dad forgot to talk to you one day,
maybe they chewed your ass for something
and it brought tears to your eyes,
if you want, let that be trauma,
but don't justify death because of it.