Feeling left out of your own life, behind observation glass watching someone fail to live up to a basic standard of living, no giving and taking, just being taken from, who’s this shell of a human that you have become?

Nothing left to be scared of, the nightmare is you. Greasy and tired, lethargic and wired,
shut off from the world in a little room writing about becoming something you know isn’t good.

Who else sees you this way? Who else matters?
The introspection of depression is understatedly skewed, beyond all reason, beyond the point, when you’re on the outside looking in on you.

Luciana, 35