Ode to my depression.
Applause to you, my friend.
Lightning strike,
Grey plaid,
Everything oh so bad,
To you,
Depression.
Sharp knife,
Locked door,
No, mom,
I'm not taking nudes.
There was a time when I was 15 and my younger sister joked I was going to become an addict of some sorts,
And I joked back with,
"As an alcoholic."
The look of appeasement trying to joke with me wiped off her face,
Whether I could tell I was joking or not made me question my entire existence.
An avid life of a drinker was not full of red solo cups and parties,
It was full of lonely nights clutching a bottle closely to my chest,
Afraid that it will grow legs and leave me,
Tired of the way my lips caressed the opening to drink the poison that I hoped would succumb me into nothingness.
Much like you,
My darling,
Growing tired and ever weary of the way my grey plaid shirt resembled so much like your heart,
The way lightning struck the ground like your eyes struck me in awe.
I spend my days binge watching shows with endings I have already seen a thousand times,
But what do I do when checking my phone every two minutes becomes routine,
When refreshing my messages becomes apart of my subconsciousness,
When I've drank black coffee so strong that I no longer feel the rush of alertness.
Subway trains echo with the tired grumbles of those stuck in one-frame lives,
Too tired to move forward,
Too stuck to look away from the past.
I know I mean nothing to you just like the dirt beneath the shoes I bought you,
The phone I changed my wallpaper on because it never felt right,
The google browsers cluttered with things like,
"******* yourself without actually dying."
I've become so easily submerged in mundane society,
Routine,
Routine,
Routine.
Wake up,
Drink coffee,
Forget to shower,
Walk out the door,
Hoping my world ends.
Taking that locked door to my bathroom at two in the morning,
Holding a knife with a not-so-ever gentle hand,
My mother knocking on the door I have collapsed upon.
Mother,
I am tired,
But you do not get when I say I am tired.
You do not notice my window covered,
My lights turned off,
My settings on the lowest possible in hopes that heartbreak will never find me,
But the bright light from my phone screen is still too bright and the picture of you while I'm scrolling though my feed on Instagram stops my heart.
My lungs no longer work,
My body goes numb,
Tears that I thought I had run out of the night before have returned.
All I feel is the chest splitting pain that seems to resonate through my body,
Trailing down into my fingertips,
Hands tingling from the absence of your hand in mine.
So I roll over,
Turn off my phone,
I whisper a goodnight.