Depression is always gonna be there
Its always gonna be in my head
I can take pills for that, but it’s always gonna be there
Thats why I hate it so much
It’s so ******* unpredictable
Like I can be completely fine now
And wake up the next day
Or something will trigger me in the next seconds
And I will completely freak out
I will lie in my bed and cry
Depression is what it looks like in the movies
at-least for me
It’s closed curtains, being in bed all day
Not wanting to go out
It’s just so frustrating
When you can’t give a **** about yourself anymore
Nothing ******* matters anymore
And it just *****
Because you do care about things, you want to care about things
But you’re just stuck in between caring and being too tired to give a ****
I ******* hate depression
I would **** it if it was a person
Why is it even here?
It’s just horrible
It’s always gonna be here and it’s never gonna go away
Things are just ****
I have had to cancel a lot of things because I was too depressed to go out
You just don’t want to see yourself living another day
When my depression is really bad, like now, I can’t see myself living next month
I can’t see myself in a weeks time
I can’t even see myself tomorrow morning
That’s when my suicidal plans and thoughts kick in
Because I can’t freaking see myself living for another second
If I don’t love myself then nobody will
And that’s the sad truth about it

Sacrosanct sacrifices  
collide in a mirrored image.
There’s a dual grace in the anguish
as the High Priestess tears
a beating heart out —

It lures a half-crazed
Apollonian hymn from you,
harmonized to the devil’s interval,
for my repertoire of Dionysian dance,
attuned to ballet’s feral ceremonies.  
On the lunar stage of ecstasy,
we sedate and ******.

But how far do you dare to rival the muses?
“As far as it takes, and then some more.”
You say to me, in consummate hunger.
Or are we just fools drunk on nectar
in a tug of never-ending war?

I am wearing a ***** shirt,
It is crumpled and twice worn before
On days when laughter echoed the halls
Of aorta and vena cava,
But the sound curdled and went stale
As entropy ran through veins,
As my name rang in your ear,
The animosity grew in your cold stare.


I am wearing odd socks.
I haven’t found a partner,
Nor do I understand the use
Of matching two things the same.
If I were in love with the mirror
Then I should just wear one sock,
Let my sock’s noose sink into my supple skin
And slowly cut my ankle.


I haven’t washed my tie
In the entire time I have owned it,
Or the time it has owned me,
I feel the ***** cotton, wrapped
Tight around my neck-
Binding my words,
Suffocating my suffixes,
And the most heavenly of words have bruises…


The whitest of silken beds,
Was marred with blood
Before it was clad in armour,
Now nothing can harm her.


Nothing gets in..


The covers are not warm
And nobody sleeps there.


Less of a bed now,
Thinks defensively, now.
The colour begins to fade.


Ethereal façade


I don’t leave my door open anymore,
Darkness crept in
And I don’t dare let it out.
I have grown fond of the colour,
Or lack of it.
Personal pronouns-
The more I use the word ‘I’,
The less fond I become of it.

Most believe
that not knowing
will drive you mad.
But really
learning the truth
can make you just as crazy.

It's a different kind of psychotic, yes.
But insane nonetheless.

There are secrets
secrets to this world
that a meager human mind
should not learn
should not have to hold.

Sometimes those fiendly deities slip up.
They leave a door open
a window cracked
and suddenly!
a human knows too much.

There are consequences, of course.
The natural order will always be restored,
in due time.
But alas, it is not the clumsy god who is punished,
no, if only it worked that way.
No, as it has been since humans
first walked,
the poor mortal man must be punished
for learning
listening when he ought not to.

And that's where the madness of knowing
comes in.
As punishment for the deities' wrongdoings.
The natural order is restored by erasing the man's
sanity.
And once it is gone,
it is impossible to retrieve.

So be careful, little mortal,
when you wish in the well for infinite knowledge,
you never know what mischievous god
may be listening.

there is a method to my madness
                                                  i admit
      it may seem
                                            a
                             w
                                           r

                                                         y

She shunned him—hung upwhen heI'd call.
His broken heart cried, End it all!'
On a dock's edge, above the ocean
He stood and drank a poisoned potion.
Then looped a noose around his head,
And with one shot shot himself dead.

Or would have, but he missed his head
And shot th noose loop loose instead,
Then, falling, gulped the salty ocean,
Which made him puke the poisned potion.
Swimming ashore, he blamed himself
Becaause he could not slay nimself.
But then she came. He watched her fall
Into his arms, answering his call.

like koans
halting in their tracks
your logical thought
processes like a train, black and long
when it runs in a padded room
small, silent, white