Don't talk about
depression,
like it's something
you know.
It isn't a game
that is easily beaten.
It is a battle you
constantly
fight.
It comes in flashes
more of
darkness,
than of
light.
It isn't beautiful.
The scars aren't
pure,
lovely,
or a sign of worth.
They are a sign of
hurt,
in the most
disgusting,
repulsive,
brutal way.
You took that razor,
you sliced your skin.
It wasn't to
show your pain
to the world.
It was to punish
yourself,
for being the inevitable...
you.
And if you find that
beautifully tragic,
look a little closer,
listen a little harder.
You have
no idea
what you're seeing.

(m.a.)