A depressed feeling, a broken dealing. What's the point of being a world with no literal meaning? She wonders all day, looking at her bottle that's far away. What will she do to solve such a issue? Use up her box and have one last tissue? What she will do, and/or what will she say? Your thoughts walk far, but your mind in a bar. Locked away in a cage you might wonder, who stole this girls thunder. Once upon a time she was on top of the world except she finally got her head in a whirl. She went a bit crazy, as you can eye she's simply not fine. Illnesses work her thoughts in a storm- it's as if her mind won't ever go back to it's original form. Tell her a bedtime story and she'll sleep, long periods of time to weep and be deep. Locked in her eyes, a dreary daze..except they tell her it's a phase. You'll be fine eventually, the bottle you won't need. The sense of burning she feels down her throat, it's better than it being winter and wearing a warm coat. She doesn't get how, no, she doesn't get why. This glass world is trapped inside her now, making her tipsy anyhow. Loads and loads she will swallow, it's killing her, making her more hallow. One day, they continue, she won't need a bottle a day. They don't know that, it's all an assumption. They guess back and forth till one is chosen. She'll keep a drinking, and they'll continue thinking- one day her bottle will be done and she's gone.
YOU ARE READING
Your Depression is Showing
PoetryThis is just some short things I write about. Some may be about me, but some may not. I hope you don't get depressed while reading this. = Don't copy any of the stories that are presented in this book. Thank you.
