Depression is a disease, not an illness.
It plagues millions.
Filled with dread.
Children and people alike, wishing that they were dead.
Wishing that they didn't have these thoughts in their heads, only to realize that they find peace within them.
Saying things like "I can't remember a time when-"
God only exists in their mind to remind them that one day that clock on wall will stop telling your time and then you won't be alive to say "there was a time where once I-"
You won't remember the time you sliced your thighs and the time when you couldn't cry because you knew your own tears were telling lies.
Or the time when you fell in "like" with a man that always told you to fight.
Depression is a sheet that covers the eyes. Hiding the beauty of life, but letting the ugly pass through.
Wait, didn't you always think that the ugly was you?
Depression is the darkest shade of black, beating you until you couldn't walk back.
But wait, isn't there a thing called black on black crime? Yes. Because the color of our skin is the reason we know how to rhyme.
Depression isn't an emotion, it's nowhere near a potion, but it's a lock on the heart telling us that once it's there, there's no restart.
No second chances no sideways glances no new life outside this world of dark.
Depression is a disease, and it cannot define us.
YOU ARE READING
Words.
PoetryThis is a book I write in to relieve my mind of the horror it creates for itself. Poems or not, they're words. Definitions or examples, they're words. My words. Read it or not, they're my words.
