It stings,
My arm,
But I'm used to it.
I'm used to the sick way the pain gives me something to feel
And how my heart stops pounding quite so hard
When red spills down my arm

Instead of feeling better
Here I am
Writing ****** poetry in the midst of relapse
Waiting for the antidepressants to finally kick in
So that maybe for once
I won't always feel like I'm sinking

This ball and chain called depression
Keeps holding me back
I can no longer launch myself into your arms
I am forced to crawl,
To carry this burden
Until my arms can no longer support me

I'm done.
I'm tired.
I want to be alone

But interspersed with the hauntings
Thoughts of living
Breathing
Laughing
Sneak their way into my mind

And tonight

I want to live