How do you explain depression.
A sole knock on a door?
That one sock that doesn't have a pair?
My anxiety that only brings despair?
I can't seem to find my feet.
But I look down and I can see them there.
A heart beat that seems to be out of sync with the rest of the world....
A single cry at night.
Muffled by the blankets covering my insecurities.
I'm screaming but it doesn't seem to reach my throat.
Cut by a blade that walks across my skin.
Up.
Red, dances onto the floor.
No.
I can't give in to the temptation of living painless.
But It creeps closer and closer every waking moment I'm alive.
Sleep.
All I can do is close my eyes.
Hope I'm in a better place.
Away from the world that's falling onto my chest,
Breaking every rib, piercing into my lungs.
Filling up until I can't breath anymore.
Stop.
I try and I try to stop, but when my eyes are open everything's in fast mode.
I sleep all day, to try to fill this void of being alive, because at night that's all I seem to be.
Alive.
When everyone else is asleep, my eyes drip bloodshot wounds onto my skin.
My cheeks burn with a passion I've never felt before and my lashes curl with irritation.
Death.
Doesn't seem to want me.
Because every time I try to seek audience I'm thrown back into my cell of forgotten conversations and dreams never dreamt again.
Sore.
From the rubbing and scratching over constant fear of being found out.
Late at night.
I scream, but it never reaches my throat.
Instead it's muffled by all my thoughts racing like there's no tomorrow, pinching at my eyes like they're going to bleed dry from constant cry's through the night.
Cry.
That's all I can seem to do.
A call for help.
A realisation of realities being smashed together into a horrible monster caving over my mind.
Looming over me like the grim reaper telling me I'm next.
But it never seems to come.
And when I'm finally happy, smiling, laughing
Like I used to...
It burns in front of me like a picture in a frame,
Smashing across the room in a jealous rage.
From fighting and curses, biting and scratching at my chest to leave me alone.
So how do you explain depression?
In all honesty
I don't know.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry That Expresses My Burnt Out Fire
PoetryI try, but it's never good enough. This is a book about all my mistakes and horrible decisions, while putting it in a format to enjoy but also to give you a reality check. Mostly about me...
