Depression is art
The kind few actually understand
It's poetry is embodied in the paint
That covers the artist's hands.
And the canvas drips words
That fill up the empty space
With colors of black and blue
To fill up the feeling of grey
Within the emptiness
Of the corners of the artist's heart.
But the design isn't yet finished
The last stroke waiting to breathe
On the canvas to complete it
Before the world can see.
Slices of red added to the portrait
And specks of tears too
To complete the last touch
Of the masterpiece for you.
...
But you know what they say
Most art isn't understood
And the poetry behind it all
Is lost in the colors too.
For you would only know
If you knew this:
That the art was her soul
But the canvas was her **skin

I should've just said no.
But I've never been good at that.

.
Bare feet pound along the pavement
yet there is not feeling.
The connection with the tangible solid
has with it no true healing.

The detached mind floats up high
a million miles away.
Terra firma are just empty words,
stout rock becoming clay.

As retraction of the emotions sits
apart from what is real.
A no-man's land of security shrieks
'this is what I feel'.

Withdrawal has its positive notes,
protection from the pain.
Keeping close the hearts secret safe,
never to be killed again.

Autopilots most clever disguises hide
that which should be faced.
But burying reality in cold defiance
renders it all but erased.

© Pagan Paul (29/08/17)

I am a sealed
envelope
licked by
past promises
that have found
a home
in the corners
of my frame
Go on
cut it open
liberate me
I dare you

I didn't realize how much i was going
to miss you until the cold breeze started
to flow through my windows.
You reminded me of Autumn.
My favorite season out of them all.
The cold air hit me like you did,
when i first met you.
I realized i didn't want to
live through another fall season
again, if i had to do with without you.
Now that you're gone i know the leaves
are still going to change.
That doesn't mean you're going to come back.
I just let the cold breeze roll in
along with autumn memories with you
and i still go on,
everyday,
as if you never existed.

when they tell you
"go look for love,"
look for it first
inside you.
it will be
(most certainly)
knocking at the door of your heart.
(your heartbeat.)
let it in.
it will run through every room inside
moving things around
untangling the messes you've made
making room.
it will change you.
you might not recognize yourself.
it will bring light to your eyes,
brighten your smile,
redden your cheeks.
it will teach you to make art.
to sing and write poetry and dabble in painting.
it will teach you to like you,
to love you,
the wonder that you are.
you'll know what love looks like
now that it's inside you.

my mother once said,
"brown eyes are so beautiful,
but they're so sad, too."