Everyone talks about depression as if they know it.  

But what they don’t know is that depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway,

it’s feeling the blood dripping down your skin and having the sick thought of  “Oh, look how beautiful the red is” (they always say red is my color).

Depression is lying on your bed for hours on end, salt tracks lining your face like the scars on your ankles, staring at your ceiling tracing patterns in the paint and accepting death in life with this hole in your chest because death is a reward, an escape from this pain you deserve to feel.

Depression is writing sick poetry on skin and publishing it with scars, cutting on ankles, not wrists because you’re scared you’ll get in trouble but you so desperately need to be seen, and never are.

Depression is writing the word “alone” and seeing the word “home”, accepting the pain like a gift because you deserve it.

Depression is admitting suicidal thoughts to paper and not to people, and loving the broken things, hoping to tie them together, thinking maybe things will get better, but knowing that’s just wishful thinking.

Depression is hearing your mother call you monster and disgusting through the too-thin walls of your door when she thinks you can’t hear, and then telling you to your face that you have no right to cry, as if sadness is a privilege and you’re so pathetic that you don’t deserve it.

Depression is shutting yourself up in your room and hearing your family laughing downstairs because you feel like you can’t be a part of them and learning at a young age to love family always but that family isn’t always love

Depression is wanting to take love and your heart and break them into tiny little pieces and throw them into waves, to throw them away

Depression is a foot when the shoe hasn’t been broken in yet, is you when you haven’t broken life in, is seeing happy people and thinking they all look the same, like the front covers of magazines with smiles reaching their eyes when yours can’t.

Depression is wishing you could package your smiles into tiny little piles and hand them to people more deserving of them because you know you’re wasting them with half-assed lines of “I’m fine”

Depression is having to view your past as if it wasn’t yours, because to accept it as reality is to accept finality of your life through suicide.

Depression is a hooded figure standing just outside of a wooden doorway and when you close the door out of fear it keeps pounding, possessive, ******, and when you open the door out of anger you shout, “I’M SCARED” to thin air but your voice comes out as a whisper.

Thaw the numbing ice
Clogging my soul’s arteries
And veins.

her exquisite laugh
decorates the night air
while the freelance jesters look for
pennys on the ground
she rides the limelight she makes
and dances a quick two step on her
very own red carpet roll-out
while her kid brother flicks the light on and off
parody of paparazzi
its a pizza night and they pass
the special smile round like a litre bottle of coke

long after the party broke up
she lingers in the mirror
debating her narrow hips
and dreamy thinking of some special boy
she would dish the salacious details in full
but  none of that really happened
just like a kid in an ice cream shop
wants all the flavours all the time

its been years
but she tells the tale vividly
while looking at old pictures with such
as mystical tears in her hearts eye
shes all grown up
but we are all still young someplace inside
i kiss her goodnight
and we dream

I lose you
like I lose my mind-

effortlessly.

I hope that
If you look me in the eyes
You might see my love
Faithful and undying
Incapable of withering
Only hurting
And as unbearable
As the pain may be
You may look into my eyes
And still see an unfaltering love
My love deeper than the depth of the seas
Stacked upon on one another
My love so grand and endless
Will you cherish it
Look me in the eyes
See it
See how I feel
And wrap me in your arms
Make the pain dissipate
With those three blissful words
Make it clear that I am yours
And you are mine
And that we are only each others
For now and always.

Out of Liquor
and out of time.
It's 2 AM on
someday
thats not a
saturday.

Outside my window
racoons climb through
the fig tree feasting
like untamed
royalty on
the heavy hanging
fruit.

I rifle through
the cabinets
in search of a
bottle.
The cabinets are
bare and I know
this,
but the madness
says there's more.

There's a deep
red stain on
the scuffed and
peeling linoleum floor.
It's as red as
that flapping flag
of anarchy.
It's blood and
I know it
but I choose to
ignore it.

The bars have
all closed and I can
hear my neighbor
has brought the
party home
next door.

I despise the sun
but times like
these I beg the
Gods for it's
arrival.
For with the
awakening of
another day
brings the opening of the
liquor store
and my continuance
in the way of the
hardened soul.

My mornings began
just as empty as
my bottles
from the night before
and I see no
real reason to
stop it all
now.

Honest moments are born
In the predawn stillness of the night
Tearful confessions whispered
Into the nook of one's neck
Smoke drifting lazily towards the ceiling
While the candle flickers in the background
Dancing and dancing all of the pain away