Depression is like a bottomless hole
Depression is wanting to go home when you're already there
Depression is being alone surrounded by friends
Depression is laughing the loudest while being the saddest

Depression is a bottomless hole
That ***** all life and happiness from your body
Depression is a bottomless hole in your soul
Depression is an invisible force that pulls you deep down into the hole

When you're at the edge of the hole
Looking down into it
The force grabs you by your feet and pulls you down
And the more you go down
More strength you need to climb up
And less will you have to do so

Depression is a bottomless hole in your soul
That ***** all life and happiness from your body
Don't let it pull you down completely
Do not reach the bottom

Schoolmates I taunted, weaker than I.
The pain I suffered, I shed on them.
But now reminded, their pain is mine.
Memories of youth have become my enemy.
The spear is sharp.
The point pressed against my chest,
drawing nearer toward my heart.

I strike the Bic lighter
and flame erupts.
Like a miniature Pompeii,
Heat searing images of people,
Places, things, nouns and verbs
across my forearm on ****** skin.
Your face and words taking their place
Inbetween the small tattoo on my wrist
and the cigarette burns.

patient waiting, time to
allow an ease from cacophonic
pupil dilation into a more
constrict perception of the
world around. rain falls
gentle, facilitating the
transfer, as low-fi ambiance
jams on. some thunder in
distance, paling in comparison
to the vocal sparks in the night.
flittering and wisp-like, urging
ever forward. urging:
         'Come out of this a mess,
                  or not at all.'
manifestations, much as Red-Eye,
enticing to come up and dance with
death. to keep the measure through
turn for turn and twist for twist.
know the hooded Death missed
time again, giving the
                '. . or not at all'
                         another chance
to strike true. another chance to
set the eyes out in feast, when
morality shall be felled and the
vocal sparks sublimate to ever
only being rare thunder in the
distance. with flash of luminescence,
storm never given chance to weather.

I write words on my flesh
with knifes gently scratched
in to my skin,the healing happens
words, meanings for ever there
many place to write to
keep the words locked in.

Deep words that bleed letters,
not gentle as before these words
scar my skin, messages not to forget
to deep to remove, always a message
to remember. Not only cut in to my
flesh but scaring  the soul within.

I write words over my body the letters
locked in meanings do each have, I am
a canvass for love, hate, the pain that
I feel within.

Midnight
criminal metabolism of guilt forest
Rattlesnakes whistles castanets

Remove me from this hall of mirrors
This filthy glass

Are you her
Do you look like that
How could you be when
no one ever could
~~~

Poet of the call-girl storm

She left a note on the bedroom door.
“If I’m out, bring me to.”
~~~

I dropped by to see you
late last night
But you were out
like a light
Your head was on the floor
& rats played pool w/your eyes

Death is a good disguise
for late at night

Wrapping all games in its calm garden

But what happens
when the guests return
& all unmask
& you are asked
to leave
for want of a smile

I’ll still take you then
But I’m your friend

By Joseph Childress

Beautiful woman in the mirror
You are the fairest
Of them all
More fairy
Than tales
Long and tall
The truth you seek
Can be found
Without reflection
Someone paid
Extra care
In designing
Your cover
The silk fabric
Of your skin
Was created only
To showcase
The beauty within
Like decorative boxes
Housing diamond rings
Open up
And give the world
The gift
It's been waiting for
Ask the mirror no more
As much as it reflects on life
Only you have
The power to live it