If it’s rainbows and unicorns,
sunshine and daises
laughter that makes your abs clench,
eyes water,
leaving you rolling on the floor,
gasping for air
to fill your deflated lungs…
Maybe it’s not depression.
If it’s days and nights
and nights and days
focusing on one error,
the disappointment in
your parents eyes,
they way they shake their heads
when you tell them you messed up.
It’s been over a month,
they all moved on,
but your still holding on,
analyzing the way you messed up,
until the next mistake comes along.
Maybe it’s depression.
If you’re strict
on the presentation of
your clothes,
images,
hiding the scars,
never wearing black
more than twice a week,
painting a smile
more days than not…
Maybe it’s depression.
If you've groveled
at the feet of the devil,
wrangled your sorrows,
bribing yourself that tomorrow,
you’ll get out of bed.
For the first time in days,
you’ll take the risk
of the world putting
too much weight on your shoulders…
It is depression.
If you've prayed
that the weight of it
won’t crush your bones,
mash your spirits,
turn you into a hollowed out cave
of limestone in the dirt.
Prayed that it won’t
blast away the last
of your ability to make it
through the night.
It is depression.
If you've wondered
whether you inherited this monster,
from your mother
or father
or did it manifest itself
inside your head?
Was it prepared
To make your life
living hell-
even more than imagined.
Enough
so that every molecule
every atom of your being
aches with sorrow
that cannot be placated.
Not with crying,
Not with laughter,
Not with enough sleep
to classify you as comatose.
Inexorable from the mind,
a demon with hands
constantly wrapped
around your neck,
ready to squeeze
at a moment’s notice.
Like demons,
Depression will keep its hold
until you crumble.
Nov 16, 2014
Nov 16, 2014 at 10:07 PM UTC
If it’s rainbows and unicorns,
sunshine and daises
laughter that makes your abs clench,
eyes water,
leaving you rolling on the floor,
gasping for air
to fill your deflated lungs…
Maybe it’s not depression.
If it’s days and nights
and nights and days
focusing on one error,
the disappointment in
your parents eyes,
they way they shake their heads
when you tell them you messed up.
It’s been over a month,
they all moved on,
but your still holding on,
analyzing the way you messed up,
until the next mistake comes along.
Maybe it’s depression.
If you’re strict
on the presentation of
your clothes,
images,
hiding the scars,
never wearing black
more than twice a week,
painting a smile
more days than not…
Maybe it’s depression.
If you've groveled
at the feet of the devil,
wrangled your sorrows,
bribing yourself that tomorrow,
you’ll get out of bed.
For the first time in days,
you’ll take the risk
of the world putting
too much weight on your shoulders…
It is depression.
If you've prayed
that the weight of it
won’t crush your bones,
mash your spirits,
turn you into a hollowed out cave
of limestone in the dirt.
Prayed that it won’t
blast away the last
of your ability to make it
through the night.
It is depression.
If you've wondered
whether you inherited this monster,
from your mother
or father
or did it manifest itself
inside your head?
Was it prepared
To make your life
living hell-
even more than imagined.
Enough
so that every molecule
every atom of your being
aches with sorrow
that cannot be placated.
Not with crying,
Not with laughter,
Not with enough sleep
to classify you as comatose.
Inexorable from the mind,
a demon with hands
constantly wrapped
around your neck,
ready to squeeze
at a moment’s notice.
Like demons,
Depression will keep its hold
until you crumble.
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