Andrew Kelly Apr 3

I ponder what my parents told me,
“The light in your eyes is back.”
Not because I am happy,
(or sober…)

Its because I stare at the dimly lit skyline
In the City of Brotherly Love,
In a melancholy manner.

While I could make some cliché allegory
Of a cigarette being another source of faint luminescence.

But I am a college student,
A speck of a presence drowning in dimwits,
With such bright futures ahead!
(Along with a large sum of debt.)

So while I sit and stare
At the city lights,
Soaking in suicidal thoughts at the SEPTA station.

Remember the light in my eyes
Is a reflection of those city lights.
Dimly lit,
Not aflame.
I have no one but myself to blame.

Telling the tale of what it was like to experience my depression at its worst alone in the city of Philadelphia. I never thought I was able to beat it until I did.
Andrew Kelly Mar 29

Nothing says adolescence
More than underage drinking.
Veiled by chitters of nocturnal critters,
Surrounded by a maze of maple trees.

There is nothing more pure
Than youthful rebellion.
Newfound free will questioning rules and religion,
Causes the creation of confused hellions.

Faint echoes of laughter and Kid Cudi,
Bring comrades ever closer,
Until they are friends no longer.
They become family.

I will love my friends until the day I die
Andrew Kelly Mar 24

The grip on my disposable razor
Is tighter than the grip of my own reality.
Reflection distorted by the humid condensation,
I still see my hands trembling as I shave.
I still see the designer bags under my eyes.

The familiar aroma of shaving cream,
Paired with the sobering twinge
Of the nicks from my razor.
The haphazardly spilled pills,
Horizontal bottles in the medicine cabinet.

White-knuckling the porcelain sink,
Decorated with dried toothpaste and the blood of my gums.
I reflect to my reflection
Distorted by drip drops of tap water,

“Am I still myself?
Or simply a prospect of my own delusion?”

A poem on what it is like to go through a depressive episode at the beginning of your day. Don't give up though, it does pass!
Andrew Kelly Mar 22

Change starts
With the formation of habit.
The simplest action
Will flip that switch in your frontal lobe.

The reason we call
What we do on a regular basis
A habit,
Is because we live in the decisions we make everyday.

Andrew Kelly Mar 22

“Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?”

I can tell you where,
Drive to the church off of the gray gravel road.

There you will be greeted
By dim witted deacons and the dead.
Parades of pink lily slippers
Masquerades this melancholy sensation.

Surrounded by galleries of gravestones
Belonging to both babies and Baby Boomers.

You can visit.
Surrender your problems to the dirt,
The decaying.

They are dead,
They cannot hear what you are saying.

A poem about visiting my brother's grave.
Andrew Kelly Mar 21

It was the hardest month of my life,
Deprived of what made me whole.
All I had were
The shakes and copious cold sweats.

I had to look at myself
In the mirror everyday.
With the gripping reality
That there was no escape.

No phone, no way out.
Just fellow victims
Of our own self sabotage.
Whom became my family.

With cigarettes and sodas in hand,
We gathered around the plastic picnic table.
I lost myself in their stories,
They lost themselves in mine.

Slowly the insanity left me,
The depression,
It lessened.
It truly does get better.

A poem about my experience in rehab
Andrew Kelly Mar 20

When we went to university,
There still was a you and me.

Then autumn came.
The leaves,
They changed
Nothing ever stays the same.

All I can think about is how
I never deserved you at all.
The care for you should not have followed
The surplus of pills I swallowed.

It’s my fault…
My heart tends to sink,
When those autumn leaves fall.

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