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Depression is a choice, my dear, And happiness the same You choose this illness, don’t you? What a tragic little game. Depression is an option, love Just get up out of bed Take your tears and worries And just smile now instead. Depression is a choice, you see, And so is suicide. Just sit back, kick your feet up, dear Enjoy this perfect ride. Get over your own standards Of what everyone should be. Just smile for once, and maybe You’ll be living perfectly. ... But... Depression is an illness That we feel so deep within. Why would anybody choose To write poetry on their skin? Unless there lies a reason, dear, I would not choo

Depression isn’t true, my dear Depression isn’t real. It’s just a silly tragedy You’ve forced yourself to feel. Anxiety is fake, my friend You wonder why it’s there. But others have it worse than you! Stop forming false despair. Cutting is dramatic, love, It’s ugly, and it’s dumb. Why not just get over it? Is the attention fun? Suicide is stupid, dear, And selfish, if I may. Get over yourself, darling, Can you hear these things I say? Why aren’t you replying, love? Oh, where could you have gone? I never meant to hurt you, love, Did I say something wrong? Why aren’t you replying, dear