I am depression.
Depression is me
and I am the one I am fighting.
I am the one that tears my mind
apart, that rapes the insides for every
vulnerable and clean vessel left.

I am used.
I am *****.
I am not worthy of a kind touch
I do not want a kind touch
I don't not want help
don't cry, don't say you love me
don't make me want this again.

I am tired.
I am hateful and jaded
but that all ties to the hurt that
I've been masking for years.
And now I just can't make the
effort to hide anymore.

I am so sorry
to the five year old girl
with big blue eyes and
too short bangs who thought
that dad could scare off the monsters.
But they still escaped the closet.

I am so sorry, dad,
I know you didn't want
your little girl to go through this
to feel this disease that has contaminated
this bloodline. And I am sorry of all
the future plans I might rob you of.

I am so sorry for wasting potential.
I am the girl who cried wolf
but I have been dead for quite some time.