Sometimes
When I look into my eyes
I see nothing
But black pupils
Staring back
Sharing nothing---
Emotionless
And physical
With nothing there
And sometimes
I touch my own skin
And I feel nothing
Underneath my fingertips
But the feel of flesh
And mortality
And I think of how wonderful life should be
And how I can't feel
ANY OF IT
I don't see the
WONDER
I don't feel the
AMAZEMENT
of my youth
And that is my depression.
Is that I can't feel anything.
I don't feel sad. Or mad.
And I want to. My depression isn't a
"boohoo hate myself"
It's an
"what have I become?"
Have I no joy in life?
No, I suppose not.
Jan 25, 2014
Jan 25, 2014 at 5:07 AM UTC
Sometimes
When I look into my eyes
I see nothing
But black pupils
Staring back
Sharing nothing---
Emotionless
And physical
With nothing there
And sometimes
I touch my own skin
And I feel nothing
Underneath my fingertips
But the feel of flesh
And mortality
And I think of how wonderful life should be
And how I can't feel
ANY OF IT
I don't see the
WONDER
I don't feel the
AMAZEMENT
of my youth
And that is my depression.
Is that I can't feel anything.
I don't feel sad. Or mad.
And I want to. My depression isn't a
"boohoo hate myself"
It's an
"what have I become?"
Have I no joy in life?
No, I suppose not.
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