Though it is sunny,
I am depressed.
Though it is my birthday, I am sad.
I am sitting on this couch but I feel nothing but wood.
I am in the sun's warm rays
But I am cold
And anxiety creeps into my stomach.
I didn't get a call, or see her,
Until three weeks too late.
My mom forgot my birthday.
Sitting on this couch feeling nothing but cold,
I can't tell if she really forgot
Or if its part of her game that I don't want to play.
Sitting on this couch
Feeling more than cold
She is forcing me to play
Her twisted game
The only way to make her stop
Is to sit down and plot my first move.