See, I wanted to
write a poem about depression.
I wanted to have these deep
moving lines.
These philosophical phrases.
I wanted to write a poem
about depression.
I wanted to write about
how when you cut open
your wrists
Flowers and glitter spill out
rather than blood and despair.
I wanted to write about
how when you drink yourself
towards blacking out
you throw up money and happiness
rather than shame and bile.
I wanted to write about how
when you put a bullet through your
jaw, flower petals and joy will
come out rather
than blood and a lifer ended.
I wanted to write a poem
about depression.
But there aren’t any pretty
words to go with depression.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
See, I wanted to
write a poem about depression.
I wanted to have these deep
moving lines.
These philosophical phrases.
I wanted to write a poem
about depression.
I wanted to write about
how when you cut open
your wrists
Flowers and glitter spill out
rather than blood and despair.
I wanted to write about
how when you drink yourself
towards blacking out
you throw up money and happiness
rather than shame and bile.
I wanted to write about how
when you put a bullet through your
jaw, flower petals and joy will
come out rather
than blood and a lifer ended.
I wanted to write a poem
about depression.
But there aren’t any pretty
words to go with depression.
Copyright © 2015 by Kathleen McSweeney
