“Depression, how long will it be ?”
“𝑼𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆.”
“Where’s Empty?”
“𝑯𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.”
“And happiness?”
“𝑫𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒂𝒔𝒌 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒑𝒊𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔, 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆.”

“𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏.”
“I feed my depression with sad songs
and poetry,
so that maybe it will allow me
small moments
where it might sleep inside my chest
where I can be entirely alone.”
The chill of heat in my chest forced an inward sigh.
He was awake, and he craved
to hear the sobs
claw themselves from
me.

And with every broken sound barrier,
glittering lights sprinkle from the sky.
I wonder, how many had died
in a ****** field
listening to a similar melody.
Applause and shouts of delight
bring me back years ahead
to the present time.
The lackluster lights no longer amaze

“𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒕, 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒂𝒚.”
“I guess it’s better to be sad, because maybe you can fix something.”
“But you can’t fix feeling numb, if you can’t
feel anything in the first place.”