Cuts on my wrists
hands curled into fists
will i even be missed

Writing a note
i wrote
i love you and it wasn't your fault

That's a lie
i want to die and
its partly your fault

I can't tell you that so i
Sit and i cry

Why do i
Live like this

Will i even be missed

Like an old friend inviting you to come inside.
Familiar. Comforting.
It will grasp you in its arms and hold you close;
And when you're ready to leave, it wont let you go.
You will beg and plead to be happy,
and it will put up a fight.
It will make you think that the only way to escape it is to take your own life.
If you are lucky, you can break free;
and it will sit and watch you from afar.
Calling your name.
Welcoming you back into it's arms.
It will intrude your thoughts.
Make you think you are worthless.
That you're better off dead.
Just keep telling yourself that it's all in your head.
Keep moving. You will get far.
Depression is not who you are.

I season my lies with grains of truth
which make the average story worth its salt
it touches me between the tongue and tooth
so every falsehood shines without a fault

what's true is slippery banana peel
your story flips the coin of one I tell
believing only one side shows what's real
buys you a ticket to a special layer of hell

so hold your facts lightly let them fly
watch their feathers turn from royal blue to gray
know you know nothing 'til the day you die
for truth is shaped from brittlest of clay

Truth is lighter than the tiniest of flea
its bitter bite jars us into harsh reality

I curse the midnight muse
her full bladder urgency

calling from the darkest darkness
quilling me willing me to write

I sprung out of this polka-dotted haze
rose up into a new exotic phase

a spring of fleurs erupted from my fount
forced
bulb March of mother May I's
forget-me-knotted hair
sashaying Miss American me
Ms. Primrose Promise
sprouting a court of daffodilian dandies
defrosting smiles of delight

tip-toe-Tiny-Tim Tambourine man
faerie of frivolity
waves his wand over
my zone 8

I bloom anew