To my Therapist This is to my Therapist.
No daddy never touched me,
Mom didn't call me names.
They divorced when I was thirteen,
I don't know whoes to blame.
I sometimes do, do drugs.
I drink and smoke my fill.
I wonder what it would be like,
just to jump and fall.
I don't call it depression,
don't need your sympathy.
Just smile and nod your head,
No one gives a damn about me.
It's not that I am lonely,
I've got friends to spare.
Its just that crummy feeling,
that no one really cares.
So whoes to say what wrong or right,
or what is true or false.
If I take these pills now,
still think the medic would feel a pulse.
No, for I do not take death lightly,
its a hard word to truely say.
But come on now and face it,
there's just no other way.
But becasue this is to you,
and nobosy else.
Its really no ones fault,
I did it all myself. |
