The Shadow

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*TRIGGER WARNING*

This poem contains metaphorical, yet graphic interpretations of depression and self-harm. Please proceed with caution.

If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, please text 741741 for crisis support or call one of the following US hotlines:

Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696
LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255
Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433
Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272

Also, small disclaimer: This poem is completely fictional. It isn't about me, or any one person in particular, just a general narrative. That being said, please enjoy.

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The Shadow

I have a Shadow that follows me,
all throughout the day.
Where I go, it stands beside me,
painting my vision grey.
It follows me around and hisses
cruelties in my ear.
It whispers, relentlessly taunting me,
and only I can hear.

When I first saw it behind me,
in the mirror, late at night,
I quickly masked my horror and
I tried to be polite.
I smiled a "Good evening, sir," and
asked it, "How are you?"
"I'm terrible, you see," it hissed,
"and frankly, so are you."

I pondered its words for a moment;
I didn't understand.
It gave a sharp-toothed grin and laid
its black claw on my hand.
A shiver rattled through my bones at
the cold touch of its skin.
Worry crept into my throat, and it
began to speak again.

"How can you smile at me," it asked,
"when everything...exists?"
It took me longer than the last time to
sit and ponder this.
I thought of war, and poverty, of
murder, pain, and strife.
That's bad enough, I know, but then
I thought of my own life.

I looked it in the eyes and my tears
gathered in a flood;
Its red eyes glistened wetly like
two trembling drops of blood.
A voice I didn't recognize cried,
"Stop it, please, no more!"
I realized it was my own plead and
crumpled to the floor.

The Shadow gently smiled and
took my hand in its,
It stroked my hair and scraped
its razor claws across my wrist.
Not deep enough to kill, of course, for
that would be too kind.
"You're worthless," it reminded me.
Torture of the mind.

When it had finished slicing both
my wrists and hope apart,
It plunged its hand into my chest
and seized my beating heart.
The touch of the Shadow was enough
to chill my very soul,

And as I shivered on the floor I knew

I'd be forever cold.

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I have a Shadow that follows me,
all throughout the day.
Where I go, it stands beside me,
painting my vision grey.
I used to be the sun, the moon,
and all the shining stars,
But now, I fear, that's gone, my dear,
and I am made of scars.

So if you have a Shadow, friend,
I urge you -- no, I plead,
Find someone who can help before
your hope begins to bleed.
Because even as I type, my shadow
is handing me the gun.
Too late for me, I fear, but not
too late for you to run.