imagine catching cold and getting sick.
maybe you drank out of the wrong persons bottle or
maybe you were really sweaty as cold weather began to kick.
maybe you haven’t been drinking enough water.
maybe someone sneezed on you and now
the nasty thing starts growing larger.

depression works in a similar fashion.
except, instead of your nose feeling stuffy and buggish,
and instead of your body aching,
and instead of the constant coughing,

your entire world feels stuffy and buggish.
your mind, body and soul ache.
and there’s constant, coughing, regurgitating pain.

imagine catching a cold and getting sick.
maybe you’ll never ever find someone else like them.
maybe you’re not worth anything they meant.
maybe you won’t get out of bed today.
maybe suicide isn’t the only way.
maybe you should ignore your wealth.
maybe you did this to yourself?
maybe everyone else did this to you?
maybe you’re just blaming others for your suffering?
maybe these are all simply faked graphics and you’re just buffering.
maybe this feeling is just comforting.
maybe the noose won’t swing. maybe their phone will ring?
maybe i’m not worth a thing. maybe the birds don’t speak
because i don’t give them something to sing.

i should probably take antibiotics and drink more water.

-melancholicreator

If you could hold me, scold me now
excuse tearing tears weeping shame
as I cry to you from deadmans brow

Smells like sadness
Sounds like crying
Feels like death
Tastes like depression
Looks like anxiety

i was told that every poem is about death,
***, and love,
never in that order.
that it's our job to organize
the chaos in a way that makes us feel
as though we won't be forgotten
when we're reduced to atoms and scraped,
bit by bit, from every etch
we've ever made
and the earth retakes our homes,
our names,
our loves,
lives, the lost.
but it's just a feeling.
what's important is embracing
every curve, every laugh,
every spat of anger. and learning.
that hurt won't always last unless we let it.

God said, “I made you only so you would obey me.”
His voice was something you didn’t hear so much
as feel rumbling in your bones, and sometimes it
made you feel so shaky you could hardly stay standing.
And you and I learned how to fear God,
how to do everything we had to to get by and then
hide our faces, be quiet quiet, and then when we knew
God wasn’t looking we would act it all out on our toys
that weren’t meant for the games we played.
You used to cry more than I did. You were younger.
But not all the tears were sad. Sometimes our
spirits caught fire and we cried because everything was
holy, holy, holy
and we didn’t notice yet how that just meant full of holes.
We didn’t know who God was, even though we already
called him Father. Didn’t know enough to call him Dad.
“Our Father who art standing in the living room with a horse whip,
David be thy name.”
And we prayed for peace.

The cloud was sobbing so badly that the rain can't stop falling.