She cries late
                  every night
     Turns off all the
                           lights
         Sits in bed
bawls
             her eyes out
      in the dark
Cutting out pieces
      of her heart
No one can see
                          the scars
           of her sewing
back up her chest
       Soon she will be
             an empty shell
        Hopefully
                    putting her soul to rest
If her heart
                    is no longer there
It can't get broken,
              right?
If no one can see
                          the tears
Then she never cried,
                     right?

She was the kind of girl
Worth dancing with
     In the middle of the living room
To the music
Of late night television.

She was the kind of girl
Who made the sky dizzy
     Whenever it looked down at her
Because she was
More vast than the sea.

She was the kind of girl
You wanted to kiss
     In each and every snow drift
Because her lips
Were warmer than any jacket.

She was the kind of girl
Who held you at night
     And whose arms lingered
Because when she was gone
You still felt her around you.

She was the kind of girl
People drag themselves
     From their beds and walk to work
Because they needed to care
For a necessity like her.

She was the kind of girl
Who made you trip over
     Words you wished were nearly as lovely as her,
Because she was the embodiment
Of all you ever wanted to say

To swoon the stars and put the moon in your back pocket.

There’s pills, potions
but nothing truly can cure my emotions

© Matthew Harlovic

I'm becoming a stereotype
for numerous things
a newborn sparrow with society-modified wings.

And I should probably cry
or get angry at this realisation
but I get the feeling it would be far too stereotypical a sensation.

So instead I'll just sit here like
a gaping wound, an empty box:
because the crux of this is that I am all that makes a paradox.

When I was a child I was depressed, and
my father would tell me that
"There's a silver lining to every storm cloud.
You just need to find it."

The world needs to realise that
there is no silver lining to
the storm cloud of depression
or the thunder of disease.

It's not hidden.
It's not waiting around the corner, ready to jump out.
It's not going to suddenly change fate, a miracle cure.
It's not been found because it is not there.

It never was.