I hate it when I hear,
"Depression means you hate yourself"

I think,
"You shut your ******* mouth"

Let me tell you why:

I'm apathetic towards myself,
I think I'm alright, I'm quite okay
I'm not perfect

But the questions which haunt me
taunt me, tear at my insides,
bring me down

It's a daily dose of helplessness
A jolt of shakes, half an hour long
Can't concentrate to save my life,
and even then I couldn't give a ****

I'm not clueless to the things around me
I'm wrapped up in them
they consume me

I think about the deaths,
the murders, the rapes,
the wars, the addictions,
the illnesses, the schemes,
the scams, the
lack of compassion

And death

I think about death a lot

I'm not scared to die
or be insignificant

I'm scared to think of
my family's skin and bones
in a hole in the ground
Of my best friends' cries
and smiles
forgotten
and their dreams let down

I don't hate myself

I'm scared to be alive
because it means I know what will be lost
by the hand of inhumanity
and the Grim Reaper's bony grip