depression
is not a boy with oceans for eyes kissing your scars and telling you that you are beautiful
it's not beautiful

it's foggy and tight and suffocating and heavy and exhausting and vast and quite possibly infinite and it ******* hurts so much and yet you can't feel anything and the whole world is in some sort of dense smog and nothing makes sense anymore and your head is constantly pounding each dull thud is another reason to pull the trigger it's being chained to your bed and crying for an hour when you finally have to get out from under the covers and face the world because the smog outside is blinding compared to the storm inside your head it's not being able to look your mother in the eye because you're afraid of what she'll see it's pulling and tugging at your soul it wants you it wants you dead it wants to drink up all you have it feeds on your sadness and your worry and your fear and it's having itself a proper ******* feast and it just keeps getting stronger and stronger and it laughs at you when you are far too weary to pick yourself up from the dirt it is the thing that kicks you just for the **** of it and it kicks you when you are down and when you are too tired to even cover your face you just let it hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt because the hurt is better than being numb and you are just so tired

depression
is not tragically beautiful
it's just tragic- no- it's pathetic
it's pathetic and disgusting and it's a miracle i've got any friends left

depression
is not a fashion accessory
it is not another quirk for you to add to your godforsaken twitter bio
it is real and it is pain and suffering in its most potent form

and i hope, for your sake, that the boy with the oceans for eyes that you dream of
will not kiss your scars
he will look at them and he will not feel sorry for you, he will not fall more in love with you, he will be angry
he will be angry that it hurt you
he will make you promise to never ever ever hurt yourself ever again
because you are a creature of this earth
and you deserve better
(and I do too.)

my body has become a map
of nights i'd rather not recall
i can't tell you how often i've envisioned
guiding your fingertips along the latitude and longitude,
pointing out the coordinates i'd just plotted-
"remember when you told me i ruined your life?
     or when you told me about all the pills you'd swallowed?
          or when you told me you'd never be speaking to me again?"
but as your skin brushed against mine
we'd come across paths more tangled than others, and i'd say
"remember when you told me you loved me?
     or when you told me i was beautiful?
          or when you told me you'd give me the world?"
and you'd get angry when i couldn't explain my own work

now my masterpiece is decaying
and so are my memories of you

sometimes i envision seeing you again
maybe days or weeks or years from now
and when you ask me how i'm doing
i'll guide your fingertips along the (almost) blank canvas
and tell you i've given up cartography

i know a boy,
     who loves a girl,
          who loves his best friend.

he tells me, "i want to know nothing but her lips."
i say, "take my nothing, i want your something."
he asks me why i want his something
because his something is loving someone
who isn't sleeping in his bed
and there is nothing more painful
than watching her kiss another pair of lips

but what he doesn't understand is that i want his something
because having something that hurts
is better than having nothing at all

all he has is love,
and i don't even think i remember how to love anymore.

there are nights
when i stare up at the open sky
and wonder if there's anything left for me
because i buried alive everyone who tried to love me

there are nights
when the darkness tries to swallow me
and i have to rip up my skin to keep it away from me
because my blood is the only thing that reminds it i'm still breathing

there are nights
     when i look at the boy,
          who loves the girl,
               who loves his best friend

and i realise
he's just as empty as i am