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The monster was here
then went away
he left her for good?
she begged him to stay

With her now pathetic sobs
She cried “Don’t leave me”
maybe he’d change his mind
Maybe now he could see

But has it returned?
it looks right over her
welcomed like an old friend
back is the monster

“i’ve missed you so” she said
as he took her hand
“but i was here all along”
she did not understand

could he be her hero
a monster not scary at all
back is the monster
right here when she calls
just a little poem i threw together to help a friend with an assignment :)
It’s time for yet another session
To inform you about depression.
You may want to say “Just stop!”
Like a psychological traffic cop.
But as any of us who suffer say
“Pal, it just doesn’t work that way.”
This is not some social craze
And it certainly is not a phase.

It is something we suffer through
And you’re lucky if it isn’t you.
It’s worse than any story you read
To have a ***** fight in your head.
There are no praises you can sing.
Something is wrong with everything.
Even the sunniest day looks gray
And you can’t see it another way.

For many of us, it’s a long sad story,
And maybe cerebral instead of gory.
Something has made our life tough.
Maybe we were never good enough,
Or that was the way it all seemed
Before our dreams began to scream.
We can seldom remember back so far
To discover where lie the scars.

There are times when things go well,
But most times it’s a personal hell.
You can’t take joy in the normal things
That might make other’s heart sing.
You find that you have given up hope
You feel you are at the end of your rope.
Sadly, while you sit and pull your hair.
You see you have gotten used to despair.

I know some of you that don’t suffer
This illness want to help a brother
Or sister come beyond this trauma.
But you can’t label our pain as drama.
What you can do to lend a hand to us
Is to listen to us and not abandon us.
What often works is a true confessional
In the hands of a well-trained professional.
his teeth marked my thighs like love letters written in braille. lightly, running my fingers through his hair like guitar strings and moaning harmonies through my lips. I swear, I could feel earthquakes erupting inside me as hot lava danced down my skin.

— The End —