Depression has crept his way into my bones
And made a home
For rent he pays me in tears and self-loathing
(This is the richest I’ve been in months)
Each morning he sips coffee and reads sad poetry like it’s the daily news
He makes a mess of my body
He’s such a terrible guest
And I’m getting tired of his shenanigans
But he has nowhere else to go
Maybe soon, he will pack up a few things and take a vacation to some faraway place
But even if he does, he’ll be back shortly
Because I am his permanent residence,
And he is far too comfortable here
To ever move out.

i've been picking at this thread
that has come loose in my mind.
my fingers keep reaching for it, compulsively
pulling it further and further.
this hole is getting bigger and
all my edges are frayed
but i keep ******* with it
until all the thread is unraveled in my hand
and now i must weave myself back together.

/əˈblivēən/
1. the state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening.
2. the state of being forgotten.

I fear being forgotten
and I'm afraid
I won't feel it happening.
But
I'm afraid you're
going to be the one to forget about me.