Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
dev Jul 2014
“You don’t get that it doesn't just go away. It’s something I have to fight every day. No matter how happy I am with you, and believe me, I am happy,” he explained. “It still follows me around. The depression, the self-loathing, the loneliness.” He said. His voice struggled to get the words out, stuttering and straining with each word. “I’m sorry.” He choked.
dev Jul 2014
-Indie Folk

-Iced Tea

-Laptop

-A slight breeze

-An empty room

-A memory
dev Jul 2014
“I am worthless.”
“You are not worthless.”

“I don’t deserve to be happy.”
“Everyone deserves to be happy.”

“It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.”

“No one loves me.”
“I love you.”

“No one would care if I were dead.”
“I would care.”

“I can’t live with myself.”
“I can’t live without you.”
dev Jul 2014
the saddest song you know plays slower than you remember
****** kittens, bruised dogs, or gaunt children flash across the screen
a celebrity looks at you with a pleading expression, but their eyes are empty
they tell you "for just ten dollars a month, you can make a difference"

then

you stand and get your credit card before picking up the phone
your eager fingers dial the number on the screen quickly
you give the operator all of your information
you finally slouch back in your chair, feeling immense relief

except

you never got your credit card
you never dialed the number
you never spoke to the operator
you just sat in your chair and continued to stare at the television

because

the commercials don't work
the advertisements don't work
humans choose oblivion over consciousness even when reality is right in front of their faces
dev Jul 2014
Here's to the normal days.

The days you didn't get dumped.

The days you didn't cry.

The days you didn't meet the love of your life.

The days you didn't go out on an enormous adventure.

Here's to the days no one writes poems about.
dev Jul 2014
A pale canvas lies before you.
You pick up your paint brush and think.
An artist deciding what to make.

What shall you create?
Horizontal lines in a row?
Diagonal ones?
Maybe vertical?
Should they intersect?

Your face is pensive as you make your strokes.
With each glide of your tool, vivid red invades the emptiness.
Sighs of relief escape your lips as you finish.

A ****** wrist, your masterpiece.
dev Jul 2014
Rub.
Rub.
A clean, smooth wrist.

Press.
Press.
An icy razorblade.

Slash.
Slash.
Two red lines.

Drip.
Drip.
Warm, crimson blood.

Sigh.
Sigh.
Overwhelming relief.
Next page