• Pessimism

    In eras of darkness I linger.
    Times of forlorn I rule,
    For it is with depression I thrive,
    Mulling is what I do.

    If I ever lose as much as a finger,
    I did think I would die.
    To Hell, not Heaven, I will go,
    For St Peter's I surely can't pass by.

    We call ourselves doom-singers,
    Our friends think we angst.
    The world branded us "Emos"
    the moment we joined sadness ranks.

    They never could understand,
    the resentment we have with the world.
    The emptiness we keep within us,
    Is their happiness a thousand fold.

    So in eras of darkness we linger,
    Times of forlorn we share.
    Looking at others from afar,
    Wishing that they did care.

    Someday we will look upon a star,
    thinking of the cup we filled for you.
    Hoping that one day we are able to say,
    that the glass is finally half full.