Nights like these.

To the depressed generation,

Let's just blame it on the season,
When the trees shed, so does our eyes,
And like the leaves, hope is all gone.
Nights are cold, and neither the sun is warm.
Loneliness is gripping, but it's peaceful when the city sleeps, and we cry ourselves to sleep. It's pretty to have the pillow suppress our beautiful screaming, while our tears wash of the masquerade we wear whole day.
The night plays a painful symphony, and we dance to the tunes of our demons.
Lay back and breathe, but it's getting tougher to breathe , we smell guilt.
As the inaudible clock screams, we close our eyes, and travel back in time.
We try to stop ourselves, for everything, for being born.
We feel nothing, just despair and diminished ray of hope.
We take the road, but the journey ain't beautiful, and walking in the middle, life runs over.
Fragile shoulders, can't bear the heavy emotions, and breaks at every silly reasons.
Broken promises breaks our heart,
And isolation hurts.
Stuck in an island, surrounded by deep ocean of pain, people seem far away.
Shadows, our loyal companion, ditches us during the dark.
And even the splendid moon, is surrounded by clouds of grief.
To the generation who has seen it all, smile, the sun is soon going to shine, and people will ask, "How are you".