Debbie Downer

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She sits in the back of the class.
Doesn't really speak.
Headphones in.
Head down low.
Muttering music for no one's ears.

It's impossible to tell what she's thinking.
Debbie is sad.
Debbie is sad.
Mutters around the school.
Long sleeves.
Jeans.
Dont you ever wonder?

Senior year.
Senior superlatives.
A title given.
"Quiet, and curious."
After all, no one knows about Debbie.
And what can you say to someone who doesn't exsist.

Years later.
Debbie sat on the minds of everyone.
They remembered her torment.
The chosen few who understood her.

She stood out from the crowd.
I'm her own little way.
No way out.
No choice but to stay.
It's impossible to say where she is now.

But everyone will remember.
Debbie Down.

THIS ONE IS PROBABLY CRAP.
BUT HERE YOU GO.

This is a poem about depression.
I'll probably do a better one later.

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