Depression eats you and guts you;
You feel nothing but it leaves you with bruises;
You leave scars slitting your paper thin skin trying to feel something but all you feel is the same;
You say you're fine but inside you are filled with nothing but shame;
Everyday you look at yourself and ask is today the day;
But when people ask you about your day you always respond with it was okay;
You never were okay and you knew it, so one day you said '***** it' and cried;
That night you swallowed the pills hoping you would have just died
So like this one is one of my super old ones from when I was like 10 so it is kinda ******.
And if you are dealing with depression don't be scared to reach out to someone people do care even if you don't realize it.
The birds that sang to make the day awake;
Have spread their wings and flew away hurridly;
And the sun that rose to meet the dawn has truly forlorn the sight of something;
Hath saw landscapes polluted with the blood of these men that are now gone for good;
At this moment the moon is shining upon the barrens;
Blood glares from the grassy fields we fight on;
But now all is quiet on the western front
I originally wrote this for my English class as an assignment. It doesn't rhyme but I thought I should post it.
Me And The Moonless Night
I sit alone watching the moonless night drift by waiting for it to come; I wait and wait but when it comes I am a saddening piece of depression; I wanna go home but I am just trapped in my mind trying to find an exit that doesn't exist; I spend my days and nights saying "Oh I'm fine" but really I am dying inside;People pass by asking me my story I make one up on the spot never telling them about me and my moonless nights.
This is an older poem that I have in a notebook but I decided to post it
I live in a village not to far from a town where a Dreamweaver dances gleam full in the night's sky;
She runs with her violet flute bringing the dream she had to create;
They only ever followed her as she could never reach them;
She delivered them to people with better more beautiful prances;
If reached for by her they would flee;
The Dreamweaver did weep wanting to follow her dreams;
All she really ever did say was "Why?";
When she wept you could tell that she had given one away;
She had an idea so they couldn't get away to jump down a well;
She danced and played her violet flute down a small well in her town the dreams she wish she could keep following her down all the way; Once there she tries to grab one but all it did was become a wisp of her dream a dream that the Dreamweaver weeped.
It is an old poem one of the first I had created a small folktale on how wishing wells were amde
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