Thoughts. . .
Words. . .
Sayings. . .
Phrases. . .
Stuck inside my head.
Most of them - incomplete.
Others waiting for their exit.

Some are quite.
Some are loud.
Some can never be said aloud.

This is what happens when depressive patterns illustrate your mind. . .

you lose sense of control, reason, and rhyme. . .

Everything matters-  yet,
nothing matters at the same time.

Is self love a figment of my imagination?
Because all I feel is self hatred.
I look in the mirror everyday disgusted with who I've become,
Not because I think I'm ugly
But because I think I'm beneath the lowest of ****.

I don't know how I feel...
So I write to try and make some sense of it all.
There are thoughts in the back of my head that make my skin crawl.

There isn't enough words to express all I try to emote,
So instead I write to keep afloat.
I gave up self harm,
a former vehichle of self expression,
So here I am writing to stave away my depression.

These thoughts in my head...
Never let me quite go to bed.

I scream & I shout,
But nobody ...
ever lets me out.

I'm trapped inside my own head,
Where the walls are painted red.

In ******* to my own thoughts,
Enslaved,
Tied in knots.

Whipped & dragged around..
As if there was pleasure in hell.

I've been trapped in here so long,
I can't tell.