Depression has taken my life away
“Oh, you like rock music? What do you think of Slayer?”,
harmlessly trying to engage in a conversation
about their most impressive tunes
and how they suck live compared to Machine Head.
“Forrest Gump is such a masterpiece, isn’t it?”,
remembering all the powerful scenes
you have played in your head
over a thousand times.
“What was your favourite book in your teenage years?”,
eagerly expecting me to tell you
about that novel I read twenty three times
when I was seventeen.
“Never seen you before! Where do you usually hang out?”,
hoping to discover some kind of underground pub
where I spend all my Saturday nights in
but you’ve never even heard about.
“Love sucks, doesn’t it?”,
waiting for all the details
of my last failed relationship
and how I was hurt for more than four months.
“You haven’t travelled much, have you?”,
picturing a speech in your mind
about how fucked up the economy is
and how I can’t spend more than necessary.
“Where do you work at?”,
because you swore you saw me
last Monday afternoon
coming back stressed from my shit of a job.
A sigh comes from my mouth,
looking for the nearest exit
that can relieve me from this pain.
“What have you done for the past twelve years, then?”,
not even trying to disguise your perplexity.
not expecting you to understand.