Worn out cog. (Trigger warning for suicide and mental illness)

Mentally pushing my body through another day,

Where everything is feeling exactly the same.

And my mind feels weird, and all kind of strange:

Depression hitting me hard like a tidal wave.

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Losing so much time, I don't know where it went.

Days turn to weeks to months; I'm getting sick of it.

Leaving me empty, with a pinch of lament—

Guilt for feeling guilt? What a self-made labyrinth!

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Driving myself just for some bread,

Working my body, while wishing I was dead.

Knowing no matter what, I'll never get ahead.

Tired of the travail and the miserable dread.

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Sick of all the hellos and "How do you do's."

If I hear that one more time, I'm gonna blow a fuse!

'Cause no one wants to see it from my point of view.

I'll be giving answers that'll linger with you.

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This can't be anybody's American dream,

Pulling at your pockets till they burst at the seams,

Beating you down until you just wanna scream,

So you fill every quiet moment with a digital screen.

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You'll do anything to blot out the noise,

Buying all the gadgets and the shiny new toys—

Anything to not confront, just avoid.

The everyday grind that's eroding your youthful joy.

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"Keep your head up, and everything will be fine,"

Was a good saying for an earlier time.

Now everything you care about comes with a fine.

It's easier to see it when you read between the lines.