people always describe it as an "empty pit"
but that's just not true.
in essence, what it is,
is hunger.
the starvation of meaning,
and the force fed nature of depression.
it's bulimic in urge.
binge on cutting myself,
to purge myself of feeling.
it's always described as suppressing.
when,
in actuality it's just hopeless.
it's despair.
in the same way my dirt hued eyes won't make up
for the cracks formed from
the nights spent crying-
and
too many hailstorms.