How are you?
How is life treating you?
I ask myself in the mirror.
How do I dig myself out of this grave of depression,
When my soul is excess baggage submerged in aggression?
When my tears sluice down my face like a river,
Hoping for the depression to be alleviated by the liver.

How are you?
If I say I am fine, will this grief leave my soul?
Why should I dance in the dawn when my spirit is in gloom?

How do I say, "I am fine"?
Should I fly in darkness?

How are you?
How do I answer?
If I say, "I am not fine," will they open the casket to see my inner darkness?
Should I exfoliate my soul and divulge the scars left by mental illness?
If I say I have suicidal thoughts, will it lift the curtain of beauty and reveal the beast?
Will I be the source of laughter until the pages are torn apart?
Will they restrain their speech and show their love when I am held in the clutches of the coffin?

Have you ever understood your pain?
Why don't you complain when it hurts so bad?
When the burning pain bears down on you,
Okay! This pain is killing me, and it's too much.
I am holding on, I can't march,
Morning spirit is like a match.

So I ask myself again in the mirror,
How are you?