there’s this sick comfort in depression the absence of feeling is welcoming compared to the constant rush of emotions the quietness and stillness from all that nothingness it’s different from peace, it’s the lack of joy
there’s a sick comfort in depression it’s the warm bed you can’t feel, it’s the concerned faces you can’t care about it’s the locked door you can’t open It’s different from calmness, it’s the lack of a steady heart beat
the comfort in depression is real, it’s the lack of feeling, it’s something on fire isn’t dulled out but completely extinguished It’s gone It’s dark It’s black