It’s the kind of sadness where your rib cage
Contorts
And twists and
Snaps.

Depression doesn’t float through my veins
It crawls through my bones, with dagger hands
And winding movements.

I cannot breathe.

And yet there was nothing taken from me.

I used to love my house and the welcome smell
it seems I fell head first into a cosy well.
The wine drunk hello’s to anecdotes
we’d tell
when I told you I fell, I fell onto the shells.

I’d forgotten I was living with strangers
a musician, a dancer, a model and a painter.
The one who kept plants, I really liked her
until her sun crisp face got fainter and fainter.

If we’d met somewhere else we would’ve been friends
It was too soon to share my rainy split ends.
The walls were venus traps, days began to blend
my pretending was too strong to ever make amends.

Melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

Just because I’m in pretty lights doesn’t mean I have a pretty mind,

just imagine if I was socially better, imagine if I died,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

I stand on the stage but I live beneath the storm.

I am counteractive when I give my all,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

If I didn’t moan I would be bright but I didn’t ask him to bite,

it’s the nice “girls’” tactic,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

I’m losing my hair to a monster in a pink disguise

I’ve been dipping it in drink and ****** thighs,

melodramatic.

Melodramatic,

Sorry I’m not intelligent; sorry I’m not a woman

sorry I’m not quiet; sorry I’m not a man.

Melodramatic.

She was a skeleton inside a snakeskin canvas;
the smoothest of hands to hold it’s madness.

She punctured the cliffs edge
but she wouldn’t meet the venom;
too dull, too grey,
pull at the tendons and never see heaven.

Did the momentum fade with the rain, was the rain golden?
Was it frigid, did everything stand still or was it fallen?

The more I reap the details in which mystery was apposed
the more I sew the waves with my narrative and dizzy words.

I picture a youth in my arms; squirmed in me and yanked out.
I’m too much of a charcoal cloud,
raw, cold yet loud.

Maybe it’s me above the harbour,
I’m curdling on the brink
like pale suns in vintage skies;
there’s nothing else to live for.

She bathes below the faucet of the sea and takes in discolouration.
When the windscreen wipers stop, breathing stops in full acceleration.

I’m sorry that I don’t come across
as being as lovable as you are.
My days consisted of hesitation,
building me a wall between
what I used to feel so heavily
and what I push away to the point
where it’s hurting me.
I see the breaths of silence dancing
on the screens that part us.
You might feel it blowing through,
I hope that it’s not hurting you
because it would make me wonder too.

I sent you my daydreams
we travelled the world.  
I took your cold hands
exchanged them for lights.
Talked into divinity,
I let myself be open again.
Reconciled with loving.
Then you left me.
It’s how it always goes.

My legs shouldn't stop shaking
going haywire on their own,
a person shouldn't be alone.
I lay on a single bed,
trying to be as quiet as a mouse.
It's been thousands of years
and still nobody hears me.

It's not that there's anything wrong,
when autumnal turns to white
there's something to be felt.
You lean back in your bath
to establish a bond between
familiar waves and your wet skin
uncurling itself in them.

When the snowstorm arrives,
listen to it's hymnal,
it's cry to see you as you are.
I had to learn the hard way,
see the shame in it's bleakest day,
faced it with bared teeth,
then gave it patience.