Maybe if I hadn't grown up so fast,
my depression wouldn't hang around like syrup on my hands.
Like the bitter taste of alcohol on my tongue,
no matter how much I wash my hands, they are still sticky.
No matter how many times I brush my teeth, the smell will linger.
That's what depression is like,
it's like a friend hanging around in the corner,
moving closer and farther.
Some days I think it's gone,
but then my friend in the corner screams out for my attention, like a child throwing a tantrum.
It rages, it pounds on the floor, it screams and it cries. It curls up in a fetal position leaving me to comfort it, to soothe it back into the corner.
Sometimes the soothing can last for days, and I HAVE to stay in my room.
So, mom, dad, don't ask me why I stay in my room.
I stay in my room because, my depression forces me to.
It holds me back,
it's million hands clasp my waist and pulls me back as I pull toward the door.
Maybe if I hadn't grown up so fast...
YOU ARE READING
The Trees Talk
PoésieThe trees talk, they know what goes through your mind. The trees, they scream. +previously Perfection and Deception+
