I'm a trustworthy person.
I'm the one you tell your secret to.
The one you trust.
The one you know won't tell.
The one who will make a promise and keep it.
I made some promises.
I didn't keep them.
I learned some new secrets.
I promised not to tell.
I have to keep these ones.
Or else the ones I love will be sent away.
You have now idea of depression.
They dump their deep, dark secrets on me.
They don't give a shit of how I feel.
As long as I keep it a secret.
As long as they have a source to feed in the stress,
They don't care.
I've never felt this way.
I've never had to.
My life might not have any problems,
But the people around me,
Their lives get fucked up more and more everyday.
She misses the relationship we once had.
She loves a druggie.
She gets high.
She needs me to keep it to myself.
They all do.
And all these promises I keep,
They need to be broken.
They all need help.
Every single one of them.
But they won't let me get their help.
They continue to fuck up their own lives,
Digging me a deeper hole of depression.
And if I don't keep the secrets...
There's no one.
No one to love.
No one to care for.
No one who gives a fuck about me.
Sometimes I think it's better that way...