955

the words

these goddamned odes to the only lady that sees me for me

the grand dame depression

every morning my eyes open and she whispers hello and holds me close

and i hate her

so much

but she’s all i have

the world is so empty and every time i see a light it gets blown out

these flickering candles hiding themselves from me in the darkness

and i’m tired

tired of not sleeping

or sleeping and waking every hour on the hour and taking an hour to fall back asleep to wake in an hour and knowing in an hour it all begins again

the second verse is harder to force out than the first

hold me until the sleep comes

keep her away

i cannot bear her touch any longer

writing too much

saying too much

feeling too much and too little in one big convoluted circle taking the square of geometric body dysmorphia

let me rest

or let me die

but enough is enough when enough is too much of nothing

2 thoughts on “955

  1. I disagree. Depression doesn’t see you for you. Depression sees a tiny little corner of you and makes it inflated. Depression holds your ankles sobbing as you try to walk away, declaring her love for you with wretched pitiful wails. Depression doesn’t see all of you. She sees the parts that suit her. She attempts to make you think that’s all you are, that you’re nothing without her when it’s the opposite: she’s nothing without you. Instead of sleeping with her, I say, let her visit once in a while but don’t slip your hand into hers and whatever you do, don’t kiss her.

    Liked by 1 person

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