Bubbles
Her mom used to tell her that depression was like bubbles.
The sadness never lasted and in an instant, pop!
The bubbles would pop, they would fade, and here she was
unpoppable. The thing is depression does not pop
it burns. She would sit in the boiling water and cry begging
for a bubble to one day float down from the sky
scooping her up in all its warmth she could see the world
through soapy glasses she could feel the warmth
inside her she could feel her fingers grip on the slippery
cocoon her hands gave up with one final sigh
The world flashed a blackish blue as she laughed in her bubble
Her brain finally settling into a flat lined peace
The world of bubbles has no work and no stress but to get in was a hefty fee
You have to say goodbye to all you know
The land of bubbles takes its toll for those who fly up can't float back down
YOU ARE READING
My Poetry
PoetryHey guys I've started doing poetry/ writing nonsense as a way to help my depression.
