Poetry By Me

Depression

My body will not move

But my body craves

To groove

With the moves of life.

I want to prove

To those who refuse

To believe

That I

Can maybe,

Someday

Come clean

Of this unforseen

Thing called life.

This depression

Is leaving the impression

That I have no passion.

I am tired

And my brain that was once,

Oh so wired,

Can not seem to admire

The world the same way,

As it once did every single day.

Instead I turn to words,

But not of those heard,

Because I never once learned

To mourn for those words

That were spoken

Because never saved me

But instead

They made me this broken.

I was.

Well am,

Lonely.

But I chose that,

And that is the only

Thing I do not mind.

Because the less I'm with people

The less I am

This fragile little mess,

Because being with them

Is just like

A broken

Game of chess.

So yes,

I am quite frankly depressed,

But do not stress,

I am used to this whole quest

Because I have been this way

Traveling this passage

As once did Hemingway.

But don't worry,

Deaths grip

Won't rip

Me yet,

Because I have my family

As my safety net.

L.O.M