Dear Sister,
"What's the scariest part" she asked.
"The scariest part? Where do I begin.
How loud do I have to scream and cry at night in my room for someone to hear me?
The fact that a professional can even deface my well made mask.
The fact that nobody knows that it's me. No one knows who I really am.
I need an escape. That's music. It's like a drug to me." I responded
"Is that the scariest part?" She insisted. I finally gave in.
I shook my head, closed my eyes and inhaled.
"The scariest part, is that there is a piece of me that is addicted. That doesn't want to let it go.
I'm in love with my depression"
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Dear depression,
Why do you get so damn jealous, when I finally let someone in, you have to make sure I push them out.
Why do you hurt me so much?
Why do you rip my eyes open so far, my observance of things is overly heightened, and I noticed the vacant stares and the judgmental glares
Why do you torture me at night, when I'm all alone with no where to hide.
Why do you do this to me.
Why do I sit here and watch you eat away at my body from the inside out.
__________________________________
Dear Dad,
The nights get longer,
The days get shorter,
The screams get louder
The hope gets smaller
The heart gets colder
The shower gets hotter
And one day my skin will melt off, and you'll find me, a shriveled skeleton in the drain, waiting for you to pull me out.
YOU ARE READING
Stop This Pain
SaggisticaThey say that every story starts with hope. But if you ask me, whoever said that probably never had any hope themselves. Because in the darkest of times, that's when a sliver of hope really stands out like a shinning light at the bottom of the ocean...
