We have skin as muddy as waters. Vaginas smelling of blood, unwanted babies and 400 years of forced entries. That's all we have in common. What I have is sickness in the mind. Many people say depression is the emperor of many mentalities; some say it turns your mind into this forbidden city, giving you 8000 sorts of depressing feelings like no will ever love you, just go they won’t even notice you’re gone. They call it depression dynasty. They give depression so much prestige and many of them romantizes depression. But do they really know what it is? It's all watered down into something antidepressant can tone down but pills can't help all the attacks that come from different angles. Laughter turns into tears cause you can't help but hear that little voice "You're not happy", so I'd rather sit in my bedroom and write. Oh wait I've lost that skill now, thanks to my anxiety that is. That's depressions' cousin, depression felt the need to invite him over. Funny how life goes. I thought I'd abort this poetry thing,when all the pain tones down creativity seems to find a new abode. Failed poet I call myself, I can't use high metaphors, fail to express all these emotions so what's the use. I seem to fail at everything I do. I'm trying not to waste my time, but this is what I want to do. The demons come as a sequence of powerful leaders and I just can't sit here and let them dictate to me.