Saturday morning depression

I don’t want to be depressed. Once I am in a depressed mood, I do seem to want  to be depressed. Broken.

I can’t  tell when girls hit  on me. I wonder sometimes if I can actually tell, but I  don’t want to know. Broken.

I don’t like watching awkward situation comedies, but I watch them and fast forward through the  awkward bits in the hopes of still laughing. I rarely laugh. Broken.

I hide in the hopes of not hurting anyone. Broken.

I hide in the hopes of not  talking to anyone. Broken.

I hide in the hopes of hiding more. Broken.

I can only fall asleep by pretending to hide where no one can find me or get  to me. Broken.

I have delusions of grandeur, but I keep them to myself for fear I am something more than I think I am. Broken.

I put things on a blog I know no one reads and prey no one does anything about what  I write. Broken.