Depression is a disease that affects
4.4% of the world population
1.4% of the Portuguese
being the 17th country with the highest prevalence rate
I'm not suicidal... but maybe I am.
I know that suicide is a sign of cowardice,
but greater cowardice is lacking the courage to do so.
I'm not suicidal... but maybe I am.
I got tired of writing suicide letters and trying to do it,
but not being able to, because something makes me stay alive
I'm not suicidal... but maybe I am.
But I still hope that one day I will have courage and that I will take my own life.
So I will give all the rest that my soul needs.

Dear Lord,

I know their earthly bodies find comfort in its smog,
in the brine, and in the actions that keep them sane

and I ask you, Lord, who is the pinnacle of comfort
to ease their minds and souls and lift them out of pain

in Your mercy, by Your light, by Your loving holy light
so they may never need to smoke or drink again

Amen

It is confirmed
You have a highly aggressive form of ***


© 2019 MJL

These things I like to call
A disease
Everyone has them
In their hands
Pockets
Backpacks
In front of your face
All the time
Never
Left at home
Turned off

You stole
My friends
My time
My joy
Fresh air
Family time
Face to face conversations
And you keep me on the couch

You use me for everything
Alarm clocks
Notes
Photos
Videos
Movies
And even as a computer

You started off the size of a brick
And as time passed
You got smaller
Then bigger
And flatter
Like a pocket sized tv

You have become such a disease
That not many of us
Can live without you
But you have become a sad necessity
That should never have been
You are a want not a need
So stop and let me have
My life back
The creativity your blocking
The great times of playing games together
Board or card or games outdoors
But not on you

You
You dull our brains
You mess with our memories
Because all the numbers you keep
You mess with our sleep patterns
You cause us depression
And anxiety
Because we apparently need you in our lives
When in the past you were not here
And we can do it again
Even with you here

I find myself here
More times than I should.
The taste of nicotine stained on my tongue
The thirst for anything that will find me relief
Who am I really?
Because this sickness and madness takes over everything that I am
Sneaking up on me bit by bit, unnoticeable
Until it’s too late.
I’m so tired of fighting this.
The days I cannot make it to my bed
And the days that I feel nothing.
And everyday - the feeling of uncertainty.
The feeling of complete emptiness and loneliness.
The feeling that grips me up and rips out everything I thought I am.
The days I cannot recognize this person looking back at me.
This. Disease.
It is me.

1:11 AM
Hiding in
A cake
Riding out
The terror
Basking in this light
Blind me to it all
Capture all my fears
Envelope me
My temerity  
Save what’s left
The few words
That struggle
To be free
Of the
Terror
That is
Me

infected from head to toe,
it spreads
poisoning
your movements
thoughts

slowly
takes your life
rips it seam by seam
until there's nothing left,
but a string.

forces you into loneliness,
exiles you from your own life,
leaving you with nothing,
nothing but a shell of who you were.

memories are used as weapons,
torturing you with thoughts.

all that you had left is turned against you as if you're deserving of simply nothing.

because that is what this disease does.
it forces you to feel like
n
o
t
h
i
n
g
until you accept that it as truth.

but you can't, the only cure is to rip through the mirage.
you can't submiss to the negative,
when you can create positive.

you may left in pieces,
but everything is formed with pieces.
e
v
e
r
y
t
h
i
n
g
Pieces are everything.