I cannot write anything at all.

Her hands slipping into somewhere
You would not dare think about
Her lips giving you life and death
Without any hint of mercy
Her eyes yearning for your gaze
Into the parts you have yet to know
The excitement of her skin
Will never contain your fears
And, ultimately, your grief

I would give you anything
As sweet as your heart's desire
But darling, please be gentle
And do not take my words
For they are all that I want
To keep as my own

It is one thing for you
To take away my pride
But do you not know
What a horrific crime it is
To take away my words?

Wounded birds
And broken angels
Are your favorite lovers
But my dear,
We are not objects
To be fixed

Every once in a while
The moon finds her strength
To be reborn
Amidst the void
That the sun leaves behind
It is always a game
Of hide-and-seek between them
Never truly knowing
Who is hiding
And who is seeking

Depression is like waking up sick, everyday since the last time that you could remember. You carry around the cure, in the unkempt form of your mind.