i hold this minor truth inside my head: either i hold onto hope or i mope till i'm dead.
this is where i frequently find myself, fearing the truth in the frequent lies i tell,
with my anxiety like wanderlust, searching, seemingly unworthy of a holy luck
i'm leering over all-too-cautious fears unspoken,
thinking that if my brain is a train then my emergency brake is broken.

but i don't know yet
whether or not my pupils are snow-capped
because every waking minute i spend wishing my life was finished i find another dead friend's decision to begin this deadly reminiscence -
and i am finished.
finished with the act of letting go
everything i guiltily promised God and swore i'd always know,
finished with feeling like my constant state of trembling and shaking is simply doing nothing more than taking time out of another worthless day of the week,
and i am finished picking up after depression, even when swears he's definitely learned his lesson, "this time i'll be better, this time i'll feel less or you can check out of life's queue just like i taught you to do."

this, all so unfortunately, is where i have found myself.
frightened, paranoid, depressed. stewing in my own personal hell.
so convinced i've done this all on my own that i can't even fathom the idea of self-help,
since surely i can't seek solace from the same demons that oppress my conscience for no good reason.
and even when i'm friends with them, it's a matter of time before they turn fiendish again, and i am left
rotting my own brain away with unrighteous distractions, risking my own life just so i can feel real again, realizing that this feeling will never really truly end.
so here we are, still, gazing at hope with frozen-over eyes, counting down every torturous second till i finally die - this isn't right. this isn't right.

maybe you can make this better. maybe you can help me.
but you should know that no amount of attitude suppressants can medicate the trauma left by past eras of depression,
and there will be days when i wake up thinking i'm dead, shaking when i remember there's another dreadful day ahead,
and you should know those tantalizing voices i talk about will still tell me to count every step you take, so don't doubt that i am just as loyal and true to them as i am to you.
it's just that there are some parts of the darkness i can't stumble through.
not without you.
so tell me that you can make this better. tell me that you can help me.
because with every passing second i am grinding down my teeth, romanticizing death, letting these vicious thoughts rule my head. this is all that i have left, this jest - this forged facade, covering the blemishes made by all that i've become,
so maybe we can **** it together, whether or not our bond is a strong enough tether to the strangled bits of happiness in me i know are there.
we can do this together.
so now i hold this minor truth inside my head: either i hold onto hope or i mope till i'm dead.
just please understand that it's either this or a self-imposed death, just please understand -
you are all that i have left.