Dashed lines appear on my arm
Starting off as little bubbles
They seep out through the slits in my skin.
Covering the previous scars, halting all progress made
All the happiness, the changes
The pride and joy of better days
It pools on my arm, building up yet clinging on
Till it spills, down the drain, in flowing red
Like the tattoo of a sick man
Or an explanation of my mind
Explaining depression to a fool or a caveman
"These scars? This is what my brain looks like"
A sick metaphor, are you proud?
But if only that was the way,
Instead I am an addict, a slave to my brain
Finding comfort in the ritual, and release in the pain
YOU ARE READING
Depresso Espresso Poetry
PoetryA small but growing collection of my own original poetry. These poems illustrate a lot of things that are beautiful to me, with my tainted mind, and describe a lot of the struggles or situations that those dealing with mental illness (or just a perv...
