Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou **** me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Suffering from depression is like:

biting your nails
when they're already too short

picking at your wounds,
and not allowing them to heal

living in your past,
because you're afraid of the future

feeling lonely,
yet being afraid
to burden other people
with your presence

wanting to get things done,
but being too unsure of yourself
to even try

you want to be happy,
but being sad is what you're most familiar with

you're afraid to live,
and afraid to die,
but you never know which option is worse

She is an open book...
In Quantum Physics
Written in Chinese

Dawn is a good friend of mine
While, day is just an acquaintance.
A respite from my mind seems ideal,
but that comes from setting my head ablaze.

I wore the brightest shade of Hell on my lips,
with a desire for Heaven under the eyes.

Had the desire to be a good person
so, from a young age-
I began to hurt myself instead of other's.

Mother once told me--
I'd put bandaids on the wounds of friends,
but I'd let scrapes bleed,
and drip down my ankle.

Father told me I was a hard worker,
I felt ten again.
Meeting his compliment with a blush;
he doesn't commend just anyone,
but my fingertips in that instant- burned.

Loved the sun as a girl,
spent hours under it-
now I can't stand the heat.
Even when I had to make appointments
for my father's love
those days seemed longer,
my skin younger.

Found a way to love the sky I'm underneath;
sky blue pill sertraline,
and white cloud- abilify
allow my brain to absorb sunlight once more.

& they tell me of a God who loves me so,
but my cheeks burn,
as skin melts off the bone.

And I was euphoric—
a star that burns incessantly,
taking up too much mass.

Red giant that encompasses all,
suffocating in the process,
exploding.

I want to be a good person,
but I don't feel human at all.
I'm rediscovering how to love living,
just the same.
Burning brightly,
unapologetically,
as a flawed being.
With passion that makes
smoke rise from my mind,
and flames in my hair.