The Depression Cure: Happiness is a Drug

(The following's a shitty slightly more recent poem about how much I hate being truly happy because it never lasts.)

Happiness is a Drug

Happiness is a drug

That you never want to get off of.

You want to be in that perpetual high

In which you believe

You can achieve anything.

Its insubstantial form is

Intoxicating, with

Sweetness dripping onto my tongue.

That smile I crave so much

It casts a glow

So strong,

It burns the demons of depression on sight.

With flowering speeches

That sooths many a soul,

It’s the cure to

Many a disease.

But when you get off that high;

When the real world claim you,

And drags you out of the flowering

Meadows of happiness, all you

Have to defend yourself is:

A girl called Innocence and

A bird yearning to fly, both

Cast away in an iron cage.

The demons are a comin’ for you.

They want that last bit of happiness

That you’re clinging to.

They want the pieces of you fading high.

To eat the happiness

We all crave.

That is what the Depression Demons want to do.

Happiness if a drug,

And Life is its only dealer.

And her prices are the highest.

Happiness is a drug

And it’s in quite a demand.

But the price of falling from that high

Is too much, even for me.

So I rather stay here, with the demons

Than be up there,

With the high up falling angels.