Maybe the darkest things are the truest things, Death, the redoubtable lover of all, the atom bomb Burns beneath cherry blossoms of closed eyelids, A magnolia grove of forever fasting lips of the dead, Pompeii and Hiroshima, twin lovers of rupture, Graves of the wind now, keepers of nothing and all.
I want to write that in front of every achievement I want to write it at the head of every poem I write
And I don’t think I will be able to create anything At least, nothing I am proud of Without an asterisk explaining This is my depression work
For depression affects everything Infects everything Dims my worldview and Makes me irrational, hypocritical and Turns me into someone I am ashamed to be
Depression takes away half of my once-brilliant mind It leeches off my creativity Drains the enchanting, poetic optimism inside me Until everything I think, everything I create, everything I am Disgusts me
you, and me, we are, unified souls, simply, united, an unbreakable set, underway, sailing, like ship and sea, this two-way street, you, and me, we are, us. [one].
the first time i broke a boy’s heart i cried as i watched his love bleed for me it poured out into my hands and still sticks to my hair this day i smell its death in the wind
now, i break hearts with no pain, no remorse i watch the light flee from their eyes and i no longer cry what it’s like to be me?