Mental illness a parasite It's hard to spot Even harder to treat And many don't believe in it's existence Purely because they cannot see it It gnaws away at everything good inside you And leading you - if untreated - towards an inevitable death It's impossible to see But slowly Very, very slowly You can start to see it's effects when you look at the victim Little by little You begin to notice the damage And no matter how much good you put into the person The selfish thief of the parasite steals it away Before the person gets the chance to use it Mental illness is a parasite It's painful, stigmatised, dangerous and scary. So so so scary.
I can't shake the feeling, The feeling of submission in my own body. A creature has slipped through the cracks when at my weakest, It's burrowed under my skin Latched to my core. You can find it: Buried in my flesh, eating at me. I feel it. Swimming through my bloodstream, pumping poison. I hear it. Crawling in my thoughts. Parasite. Drinking my joy, spitting melancholy my vision is dark, Shrouded in misery. have you ever felt unsettled, alone in the dark, but not quite.
Personifying depression as a parasitical creature.
The shallow words you offer now will never begin to fill the deep chasms you've eroded into me. Me. My person. Into the heart, soul, bones, brain, sinew of Me. When we were still new you had already begun to chip away at Me. But you said with each raise of your maul “I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you.” No one but NO ONE had ever loved Me. before. I opened myself wide and you crawled inside to make yourself a home in Me. I was empty before then and still I am empty. According to Bukowski I should have let you **** Me.