Depressive Recessive

Depression breeds,

to where suicide leads.

My heart's crusted over with
scabs of pain and sorrow,

Emotion, leaving my soul 
feeling hallow.

When the bullet finally claims me, 
ends me, cures me,

Will you follow me?

Or will you mourn me, and bury me?
and then move on past me?

Stop loving me?

One shot would finally
end the pain.

But that would mean,
I couldn't see your face again.

Why do you keep me hear?

Why does your love stop me?