Desolate
synonymous to:
Barren
Wasteland
Empty

Forgotten
Synonymous to:
My life
My existence
My happiness

Joyful:
The Antonym to:
My brain
my love
my head

Loved,
Something that I do not feel
Something that I don't remember the warmth of
Something I will never have

A glance at the clock can't tell me
the nanosecond it takes
for the thoughts to seep through my head,
and let me know that I am nothing.

A ticking time bomb can't relate
to the raging inferno
that burns up every good feeling I ever have
and makes me feel cold in the heat.

A sad song can't tell me
that everything is okay.
Because everything is not okay,
and I'm too terrified to even think.

I'm too terrified to ask for help,
because they won't believe me,
and if they do, that means I have to
tell them what I think.
And I can't think past the fire in my skull,
or the music at the forefront of my mind.

I can't tell them that every time I close my eyes
I imagine each way I could die.
I imagine the pain and feel it rush through me
in the form of excitement,
and fear,
and anger.

Because I just can't accept that part of myself
to be true.
Because I wish it wasn't,
and I don't want anyone to see that side of me.

My hand stretches out.
I touch.
My mind's eye catches yours.
I connect.
My imagination takes over.
I dream.
My love depends.
I fall.
Softly.

My senses come to terms with my surroundings.
I am looking in the mirror, delving into my soul.

I've connected with my loneliness.

My thoughts smash through my skull,
bursting forth with a stream of words
that I can neither control nor stop.
Why was I created this way?
It is still never what I want to say.
No, that is reserved for the paper in which
I spend my days hiding in.
Diving into the endless recesses of my mind
to scratch and dig and pick out
a single strand of pain that filters
through the rest of my body,
so that I can feel raw and unbridled
as I scratch ink on the paper
in a scrawl that is nearly ineligible
not even I can read it.
So instead I let my fingers
go numb from gliding across keys,
so that all may hear my scream
instead of taking that pen and inking my arm
in red, red ink.
So much ink that it passes my skin and bleeds into my veins
just to mingle with the blood
and flow back out in rejection
of all that I was, and all that I am.

Depression.
It feels like I'm constantly fighting myself
It's as though I require pep talks and prizes for doing the daily essentials of living
I need to shower but i fight it worse than I fight sleep
I want to nap
Wake up and take a nap to recoup from taking a nap
My bed is welcoming and my sadness needs a refuge.
I hide under the covers and I bring along anxiety so it doesn't feel left out
I wouldn't be complete if they didn't want to fly hand in hand.
My depression compliments my anxiety
Three days without showering. Five days without brushing her hair. That's a new record.
The hair was all you replied anxiety. I'm just here to make sure she feels like she's drowning before the water hits her shoulders.
Heavy.
My arms are made of up all my forgotten dreams
And my legs are weighed down my parents disappointment
Lifting myself off the couch is easy
So easy I don't want to do
It'd be an easy feat
Lies.
If it were easy it wouldn't be 2am and I wouldn't be surrounded by wrappers and guilty thoughts
Hold me.
Just ******* hold me.
Don't kiss me like I'm pretty.
Don't run your hands up my thigh like you have to touch me
Don't stare at me until my skin is ablaze and I lose all willpower.
Don't even ******* hold me
I hold myself
I put the pieces back
I dust myself off
I shower
I brushed my hair today.
Today was a good day.

and then I asked you,
"What's your biggest fear?"

you gave me a quivering sigh,
looked at me straight in the eyes
and said,

"It's that eventually, you will see me
the way I see myself."