This is what depression is like. The person appears normal and cheerful to everyone but their insides are churning, these dark, sharp nails constantly clawing at your throat making you choke and the more you try to pull them out, the deeper they sink in your throat, making your eyes want to water but there's this glassy veil only you can see which keeps them contained making it even harder to breathe and your chest constricts so much that the organs inside combust, leaving nothing but blackness in its wake, blackness so dark that it consumes the rest of you. On the surface you're a fresh, blooming soul but inside you're ceaselessly withering into a burnt crisp, coloring your insides the shade of coal and the wisps of thick smoke keep shrinking your lungs until you can't even yell out for help but there's no one who notices because of this fake smile that is tattooed on your lips so permanently, it eats up any hope of letting up and that's what hurts the most.
YOU ARE READING
Final Throes Of The Unfurling
Poetry"I strived to rise but every rise has a fall, I quit, I quit and that's all." Just a bunch of emotions sucked by the pen and bled on the pages. Can be seen in the dried marks on the pillow, Dark hollows of rapidly blinking eyes, And the corners of...