Dear Depression,
I only have thoughts of me
With you as my close friend.
I can not recall when we met.
You just one day made me care,
All the words been said to me
Now lurk the cracks of my
Imperfect mind.
Before I lived to make me happy.
But, now I live for you,
Hoping that one day you'll see,
That all the things you make truth,
Are truth.
And leave this ugly piece of fat
To die alone.
Because living for you
Is not a life.
Living for you means
Fighting myself
Hurting myself,
Literally.
Because these scratches
On my fat legs
Didn't make themselves.
It is you who drives me,
You who shows me.
I don't even know who I am,
I only know who you made me.
I am scared to get to know me,
What if all the things
You tell me, about me
Are true.
You always tell me
"No one knows you better
Than me.
No one has known you
For as long as I have."
And then I think
And realise,
It's all true.
So, dear Depression,
You have shown me,
How cruel life can be,
You have fed off my sadness.
Now let me go,
Because loving you
Has made me love pain.
Had made me loose myself.
In seemingly worthless memories.
Now let me go.
Let me live.
Because with you around,
I won't make it much longer.
YOU ARE READING
Nightmare
PoesíaIt's not what it seems it is. Your eyes can lie, a nightmare is everywhere. To anyone who knows me in real life: Yes, I am depressed, yes, I self-harm. But I write this for myself more than for anyone else, if you do decide to read this, I want you...
