My Little Poetry Book

Depression

It's sitting alone on a Friday night.
Nobody home.
Parents on a date.
Siblings with friends.
It's suddenly crying with no reason you could muster as to why it started but it did.
It's suddenly finding yourself in the kitchen as the voices shrill with laughter.
It's picking up a knife without even realizing your doing so.
It's dragging the knife across your wrist with the voices taking turns controlling your body.
Each cut going deeper.
It's the voices shreaks of delight as you bust a vein.
It's sitting alone
Crying
While dying
Alone on a Friday night.