I am not fucking depressed.

And your dead from the age of conception, you're going to walk these streets with your own deceptions. The way the sky skids its shit on your memory, the way your arms won't fold around me. There's no such thing as depression, I don't believe in social regression or superb anxiety. I've got a head on my shoulders that will only be the death of me. My bank account is terribly empty. My self-esteem is lower than the ground beneath me. I've been losing hair and patience for what seems like three years now. My stomach can't stand the life I live or the people in my proximity. Devastation is only on a personal scale; no unit of measure could ever be applied to what I don't feel. I'm tasting air, but it stays on my tongue, and it breathes like smoke. The alarm is sounding, the sun is rising, the birds are crying, and you're alone. One is such a figure to despise, an idiot of a digit, just another thing to reject. You're looking in the mirror. You're looking at your face. You're looking at this person eyes. You can see the mistakes. Who are we to judge that reflection? I told myself years ago, I don't fucking believe in depression.