#depression poetry
Now I am an empty tank
But you won’t light a match for me
chaos is caged in my chest. misery runs through veins, guilt is growing in my lungs. there’s traces of ruin tangled in my hair, and wreckage wrapped around my wrists. i let the sorrows seep into my skin. crimson red painted on arms, blue running from heart to head. i bury myself into bruises, and count cuts like stars. a rattled soul, a walking worry scrambling to carry the weight of a world. i dream in dread, speak in heartbreak. my existence is a fog, a memory burning just to get lost in the smoke. there is no difference between night and day, both are stuck on midnight. i’m waiting for a sun rise. but hope has fallen from shaky hands, got trapped in truth. i won’t see the sun when i’m stuck in a sky without a moon.
There is something within me that does not sleep, does not tire. An endless muscle working at wearing me down. A monster trapped between bones, gnawing and clawing. This voice in my head is disguised as my own, it whispers worthless words, wishes death upon my soul. I have no control. Pills down my throat, a razor to wrist, a scream into abyss, it’ll never be enough. It’s getting too big, taking up too much. There’s no space left for me, no room to heal or grow. I am a visitor in my own mind, a prisoner in my own shell. I’ve taken on a new meaning of personal hell.
My bed feels more like a coffin these days. Holding this sleepless shell of mine, holding this heavy hollow heart. A body so empty of life, the warmth ripped out of my bones. My veins carry a shade of blue, painted from the sadness; strokes of red against my wrists. I am here, a haunting presence, a shadow of a soul, but I am also gone. A lost memory, a quiet voice faded and forgotten. I haven’t felt alive in awhile, I’ve been hidden in the dark, wandering outside the locked door. Too terrified to knock, too hesitant to ask for help. I watch from the window, who I am has drowned in the sorrows that sink my skin. My reflection might as well be a stranger, a face without a name, a story unheard. What is suppose to be my home might as well be a ghost town, a shelter broken and burning, we abandoned each other long ago.
there is a slug
on my body
it weighs me down
when im in bed
it seems so hard
just to get up
my body is tired
it hurts all over
the slug is strong
but i won’t let it win
