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.