A pain
Inside
That covers
The light,
Blinds it;
Fills
The room-
Suffocates it.
This isn’t just
Pain;
This is
Darkness,
Blackness.
This is
Death:
The very
Essence
Of the
End of
Life.
The lack of
Dreams, the
Absence of
Hope, the
Reality of
No tomorrow,
No way to
Be free:
This
Is
Death.
This
Is
*Depression.

Take your pills, go to therapy,
Take your pills. go to therapy
“get better”
Take your pills, go to therapy,
Tell yourself you’re getting better

“You’re getting sick again ariana, we will raise your dose”

Take your pills, go to therapy

“Am i getting any better, am i healthier? do i look sick?”

Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy

“Why are you doing this to yourself Ariana?”

Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy

help
“how do i get the maggot thoughts that crawl into my head and tell me i’m inadequate, trifling?”

“It’s all circumstantial, and that is what we need to mend and patch”

Give me your mental diagnosis-diagnonsense
Go ahead, tell me what you’ve espied when you sat oneself down and perched your virtuoso intellect in my head

“oh yes, you comprehend
you understand
Everything.
You know me deeper than i know my self”

“We are getting somewhere, we are moving forward you are progressing!”

Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy

You must be pleased as punch you’re finally fixing me
dismally i disinform you, i lied

Why you may inquire? Not one can understand ones speculations or thoughts unless they are legitimately situated in my chamber of a lugubrious trench filled with distasteful maggots which leave dolorous contusions-bruises and thoughts that leave me questioning reality, questioning my essence, questioning myself

Take your pills, go to therapy
Take your pills, go to therapy

If i were in deed reviving from the sorrow i would no longer have these god awful scars and bruises

You can’t tell me i am not out of ones tree
when
you
scarcely
know
me  
At times I’m not sure if i even know me____________________­___

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

No, I don't want a fairy tale.
No, I don't want a Prince Charming,
nor a Princess to confess my love for.
No, I don't want a beautiful wedding
in the woods or near a stream.
No, I don't want my career to make me rich.
No, I don't want my lover to kiss me until I faint.
No, I don't want my children to run and play,
making the best experience out of life.
No, I don't want my daughter to grow and meet her Prince.
No, I don't want my son to find his Princess,
get on his knees and give her a silver ring with the purest of gems.
No, I don't want to die happy, with my grandchildren surrounding my bed.

Let me tell you something.
Let me teach you a lesson.
Let me talk to you,
through this poem,
in a Sarcastic tone.

Duh...

My old friend has just gone mad
seems his sanity was all he had
little white pills kept his sickness at bay
and now I'm unsure if he'll live through the day.

twas a matter of time before he lost his mind
he's searched everywhere but can't seem to find
anything that makes him feel alive inside
and I'll awake tomorrow to find that he's died.

it's a tragic event
and all time spent
trying to make this life count
will surely seem to barely amount
to anything quantitative

and so in this poem i pray
my old friend will live another day
if for no other reason than to *** a cigarette.

A poem read in the style of Ted Hughes as portrayed by Daniel Craig in the film* Sylvia.

Stop standing in the middle of rooms, Sylvia,
it’s ridiculous.

Stop staring wistfully out of windows, Sylvia,
you’re wasting your life.

Stop putting your hair down like that, Sylvia,
you look more unhinged every day.

Stop mumbling about bees, Sylvia,
it’s not healthy.

Stop ripping up bits of paper, Sylvia,
you’re making it messy.

Stop talking to that old man, Sylvia,
he doesn’t look right.

Stop burning all the clothes and books, Sylvia,
it’s not good.

Stop baking all those cakes, Sylvia,
they’re strange.

Stop being really still and staring, Sylvia,
it’s scaring the kids.

Stop waiting up for me, Sylvia,
you need to sleep.