I'm tired of the crying.

I'm sick of the song.

My faith is surely dying

When it claims

It did no wrong.

I'm sick of all the whiplash,

The pain's gone to my head.

Our fight is at a standstill

But I'd like to go to bed.

I wonder what will change

When I sort through it all.

To move past my trauma.

Break down this sturdy wall.

I'm hoping for a future where

Its voice does not control.

But I have to see—it's me—

Depression does unroll.