What does depression look like?
Oh, please tell me. I must know!
Is it just a hoax or a mind game played with me?
Why does it feel like my heart will bleed?
That pitter-patter I hear in my chest
Is it just a heartbeat or is a metronome ticking away the minutes until my mind goes astray?
What does depression look like?
A foggy glass pane?
That noise it makes when it rains?
It feels like an eternity, when it's only been an hour.
It feels like when you can't get out of the shower.
What does depression look like?
Oh can't you see!!!
Depression, oh depression, is inside of me!
He is not polite and he does not use manners!
He just barges in and demands I answer
What does depression look like?
My bed hasn't been made in years and my friends all bore me to tears
But where do I draw the line
Between where my brain is ****** up and everything is fine?
Please, God, tell me!
Does everyone feel this way or is it just me?
Am I being irrational?
Do I let my brain wander?
Between what's real or if it was just a blunder
What does depression look like?
I haven't left the house in months
And when I do I just feel in a rut
I wonder if people see me and think I'm okay?
I wonder if I prayed this would all go away?
I'm a being of lonliness, sorrow and despair.
I'm a creature cursed with depression
My bones are crumbling and bare
What does depression look like?
You tell me 
I'm quiet on the outside and screaming internally
I feel myself decaying and I feel my heart breaking
I just want to wake up from this horrifying dream
Where every piece of me is splitting at the seams
I don't try to be depressed
I want to smile but it's hard when there's weights pulling down on your eyeballs
And I want to tell you all that I'm not okay
But I'm afraid I can't come out with that
No not today.

Same as yesterday,
A ruthless beg at the morrow,
For trees and colors of light,
That stream through murdered pasts,

Twlight breathe,
Of longer passions,

Vertigo isolation,
She's running the mill,
She's always so cold,

A scheme against the day's blight,
A force of lonliness,
Abide,

Maybe treason and reason,
collide like intentions
prevent the confiding belief,

I can feel every inch of my skin, without even focusing.
The slow decay of comfort begins.

The aching annoyance that enters my mind.
My body expresses out the turmoil in my soul.

Love, hate, fear, hope, longing; endangered feelings
stretched over months of unsure lonliness.

My nerves writhe from unspoken words.
unexpressed feelings bottled up in my gut.

They attempt to escape.
No relaxation means no rest.
A night without comfort is torture.

So I lay here, overly aware of
myself,
my thoughts,
and my body.

Sad sunken eyes beneath hair
That hasn't been brushed
For far too long
With a low key smile
Begging to be kissed
I wish I had been there
For all the storms
I wish I had known
You weren't a stranger.

or “I think I’ll buy a cigar today”
I’ll smoke it tonight
nothing too expensive
but a reason to walk down a winter street
without going anywhere
A reason to do something devious
unhealthy, but nobody has to know
A reward to get me through a murky future
There may be nothing to do in town tonight
but it’s far too early to hold up
in that bomb shell paranoia
My parents have gone mad
by the cameras behind their eyes
and the dizziness of general telescopic evolution
Me, I was raised on seizure fleeting Pikachus
So far our defense is strong
We really feel the Earth spin
at its many miles an hour

“The Cold Solitary Cigar Walk Happened”

I waited for a friend to get home one evening
Bundled up, emitting smoke
to offend the quiet shut-ins of a neighborhood watch
I walked to the small old bridge over the canal
I had to **** so bad
I snuck down under the bridge and let loose in the snow
but not before shorting that foul little cigar
Bad taste in my mouth
the 5 minute journey was enough
Zipped up, bored on the bridge
my lonliness afforded me
the comfort of no public eye
I looked into the dark water
and spat a good ***
into the small reflection of a red safety light
The ripple and “splat” satisfied me
so much that I spat again
I turned around to walk
and some passerby girl appeared
She kept walking and pretended she didn't see me
Weren't you once my girlfriend?

scrabble tile - no vowels
exact change only
spider solitaire - tetris
distraction

furtive glances
quiet moments alone
lie to friends
weep with no tears

lonliness
gritted teeth with cavities
must mend myself
procrastinate

cars go fast
constant peripheral hearing
night sweats
vivid imagery, pretty colours, sublimity

consideration, politeness, restraint
roman numerals, 24 hour clock
crumpled notes, lacing on a glass
temporary sensations

four walls, three sides, two's company
shocking weather we are having isn't it?

I actually rather enjoy being alone.

Sitting in the cafeteria
                                      or a coffee shop
                                                                 or the bookstore
                                                                                              or in the park.
Anywhere really.

It’s not that I do not enjoy people.
        People are beautiful.
        I absolutely adore being around them.

They create a lot of outside noise though
        they demand your undivided attention
        they require to be heard
                they.
        and nobody else.

That kind of mandate
is hard to uphold sometimes.
Only sometimes though.

Because sometimes
I like not needing to pay attention
        not needing to listen
        not needing to hold that mandate.

My Consciousness can zone
     in and                 out
   whenever             and
                    wherever                        She
       pleases.

It’s very

      
         Peaceful.

I'll leave you to see I'm not worth it
bury it all away to die
don't cry my name
festering and reeking of misery
there's a slight denial in forgetting all this
knowing the lack power you secretly harbor in your broken soul
you wont let it go
but you could at least try

Nobody...
Nobody wants...
Nobody want me...
Nobody wants me here...

I'll...
I'll just...
I'll just go...
I'll just go now...

Every night his head rests upon me
Each day the weight of his thoughts and burdens grow
Can no one honestly see
His desire for happiness and life will no longer flow
Alone, trapped in a nightmare
Waiting to feel the fall and wake
He has created his own lair
And wont let anyone in for their own sake
All I can do is sit here and watch
Oh look, what a surprise, another notch
His sorrow is flattening me
And I believe its time for people to see.

Roll right! Roll left rolling everywhere on my bed.

My african prince am dreaming of you
This lonliness might **** me

This hunger I don't think I can satisfy
This thirst I can't quench

My love! My love! Think am losing my mind!
Cos every seconds I wish to spend with you

I keep waiting for your golden handkerchief to dry the tears of my lonliness,my thirst and hunger for you!

Come into my open hands my prince!

this loneliness is starting to
eat away at me again

Lustful glances, from an empty heart,
Plenty of chances, she's a cheap ****,
This dancefloors a graveyard,
Their dignity lies in shards,
I judge, yet I still take part,
I'm the joker in this pack of cards.

A subtle glance, from a beating heart,
Only one chance,for a brand new start,
This dancefloor's a pathway,
To more than just a ***** lay,
I'm nervous, yet still i take part,
Moments that keep lonliness at bay.

The loneliness comes without notice
Not even a courtesy call
I beckon it in resentfully
Ask it to brush the mud off at the door
No words exchange
No need
We've been through this before
I pull the sweater over my head
And scrunch the jeans to the floor
He runs the bath
I lay in the warm tub
My eyes fix on an empty ceiling
As it's hands push me under
Gently, smoothly
The water feels comforting at first
Until like a flood the heightened panic enflames
I try not to stir, it'll only make it worse
I lay in the moment, the seconds that feel like hours
I can't breathe, I stop thinking
It's only when I let go, does he
Removes me from his grip
Allowing me space to catch myself
He stands up and lingers
I lean against the cold tiles until I regain myself
Then he vanishes and I hear the door slam shut
His job is done, for now

Tossing to and fro as if combating a hostile sea/ dark thoughts cloud the inner sanctum of my mind/ the distress, the bitterness, the anguish, the grief, the sadness, the lonliness, the unfathomably lustful pain/ that I face burn with the intensity of the fires of hell that await me/ Guardians of chaos; harvesters of damsels come for me that I drown in their sins/ rip the fabric of my consciousness asunder/ my ***** sing an aria of sorrow, listen to the requiem of the ******/ a miasma of death flood my bowels/ decay enters my womb and I plunge deeper into madness/  I'm an error; a fault of life as the demonic servants consume my flesh for what feels like a eternity/ as we desend in to the pit of blasphemy, defilement, pagans, and idol worshippers/ he deprives my spirit of the rightousness, tears it from its mortal bond and it unfurls into a ethereal cloud of emptiness/ being ravaged my capture looks off in the distance as if performing an exhibition/ with every touch I feel dead inside all the while the nightmare watches with a disgustingly grim grin....

This was written for a art history class inspired by "The Nightmare" by Henry Fuseli
Tell me what you think of the interpretation!!

you that turmeric has the same properties as saffron, right? oh sure sure, you want yellow rice, you plop a teaspoon of turmeric into the rice being boiled, and ****! out it come, yellow. saffron is for pompous people, but turmeric is the same as saffron, plus? it's way way cheaper, and it does the same job.

at the local (supermarket) -
and i can't feel the bitter loneliness
while walking down an aisle
   of ready-meals...

   to be honest, walking in a graveyard
gives me a more cheerful aura
than walking in the supermarket...

but there's something even more sad
than what i already cited:
   i.e., graveyards seem more abundant
in happiness that supermarket
  aisles...

at the check-out, being asked for my age...
31... beard like pirate,
         just asking: huh?
    dude, you're 24, i'm 31, even when i was
16 i wasn't asked for my age
   buying cheap cider in an offie (off-license)
or a ****-mag (ah, those days,
where you would be publically "shamed"...
but then in the 00s,
        **** sites were infested with
the trojan virus...
           you didn't know which ones were
legitimate)...
  so yeah,
        try buying a ***** mag these days,
ha ha, good luck;
   oddly enough, in belgium there's no
weird aura buying such a mag...
                       even if you're under-age.

so back to the supermarket...
            people just desperate for a conversation,
to break the professionalism
                                    of politeness...
the routine: (a) do you have a club-card?
  (b) do you need help packing?
  (c) how will you be paying?

         all of this must seem like listening
   to a hammer a hundred nails per minute...
      
    so we start talking,
                                             beards, age, dogs...
and it's not even a sign of being extroverted,
rather: i need to talk more words than
   this function allows me...
                             oh, a black labrador?
  nibbles on your beard?
     how old do you look?
            shave it off, you'd look 20 / 21...
    'you're going to be my new best friend,
i'm actually 24',
     well, you know, us white "dudes"
       reach their full ****** potential in
  our late twenties...

    talking:
         blah blah blah, blah bah black sheep,
i could do with just referring to
   a dog's barking, or a cat meowing...
                still...
    people in supermarkets, in ready-meal
aisles,
         begging for someone to rescue them
to cook them a meal from scratch...
   what do all these people do with the time
in between buying a ready-meal
   cooking it in a microwave for 15 minutes
   and then what?

                              can't be all t.v., surely?
where's the joy of watching ingredients change
colour, and exfoliate like buds into flowers
in late spring?
                      cardamom... probably my favourite
ingredient... yeah, cloves...
                        oh **** me, a bay leaf...
                             cinnamon, sure sure...
               still,
    i find more happiness walking through a cemetary
than that eerie lonliness and sadness
    of ready meals and un-drunk liquor
   as i get, walking through a supermarket.

p.s. i really wasn't thinking or implying
  ginsberg's ode to whithman that
begins with:
              what thoughts i have of you tonight...
  
   ****-eroticism: perfected on paper...
             and that's where i like it,
   on paper...  
    if it's ****-eroticism it's best performed
                 on paper...
     and sure, *michel de montaigne    
                                       on melancholy -

top three cemeteries? o.k. four...
    père lachaise (paris)
  newington cemetery (edinburgh)
       old calton burial ground (edinburgh)
kirkut (ostrowiec św.)
   the last one? jewish, with the burial stones
stacked against each other.

all that's left of you and I
is the worn out sweater that you left behind
and when I miss you
I throw it over my fragile bones
pretend its you

wrap it round and round and round my body
                          it's huge on me, you know
                          I haven't been eating so much since you've been gone
lonliness           (or maybe insanity)
has driven me to the point
of missing someone
I never even knew

please don't change the subject
when  tell you something
i wouldn't tell anyone else
like:
i feel so alone
i can't find my meaning
i'm not really going anywhere
i'm lost
i'm scared
i'm so **** exhausted but i sleep just fine

you just tell me
"huh, that *****,"
or
"it could be worse. everyone feels like that,"
that doesn't make it any easier
i want to scream
you tell me to trust you
and get mad when i say i can't
but you make it so **** hard
when i can tell you don't care.

sometimes i still feel like i wont ever
be good enough
to be loved
or trusted
or even
important.
and i'm so scared.

I wish there was a way
to deploy the emotion,
let it tumble from my ragged chest,
let the world fight my sorrow,
my tainted facade,
my lonliness,
my separation,
In the hopes of closure:
The chance to stitch my chest
And once more
Make it whole

This house in the hills
Mountains I should say
far from the cities
or from people who play

I enjoy the solitude
the pup who sleeps by me
the man who comes back home
to endearing company

This adobe house, built by human hands.
No machinery needed, helping tend the land.
The river flowing near, and the magpies who visit.
I do enjoy this home, and the people who are in it.

Still, this place lacks joy
from the kids whos laughter echos through the world
from the corners of my mind
an emptiness spreads, and i can not help but feel a lonliness instead.

I am too young for children
I have not learned to teach
I have not learned to reach what is needed to find peace
so what is it I lack?
What more could I seek?

Why should I feel a depression that runs this deep?
Does my past still hold strong
to the young one I once was?
What more do I need.. to finally feel strong?
Do I not understand, my desire to know more
before I bring little ones into this world?
who am I anyhow, to mother, to teach
To preach any message, to those who know peace.
To those who know joy, and more then I remember.
To the ones who are divine with enjoying simple pleasures.

How can I at twenty two, enjoy my life in simple pursuits?

She said her name was Sky
Or at least that is what I think she said
When we were asked to turn to those around us
And to shake hands and say good morning
I thought it was a beautiful name
And I have thought of it since Sunday

I saw her first when I walked in the door
She wasn't the first face I saw
But she is the first face I remember
Now that isn't entirely true
Because if I was asked today to pick her out of a crowd I may not be able to
I am a nervous man at times
I did not stare at her
I didn't even look long enough to take in the intricacies of her identity
We made eye contact
I nodded in greeting as I always do and continued walking
I can remember the coat she wore was purple
And I didn't know she would sit two seats down from me
And I didn't know I would become entranced by the thought of her

I fear that I fall more in love with the idea of a stranger
Than I would once I know them
I feel that I am a dreamer at times
Though I would never admit it
I know however I won't die lonely
Though not without its bite,
Lonliness isn't that strong to me
I don't think much of it

She said her name was Sky
And in my nervousness I only said
Good morning
And I hope I see her again

loneliness for people can be very bad
leaves them oh so lonley and also very sad.

there mind is in distress there feelings they have gone
trapped with in despair and how do they go on.

everything inside is in disarray
hoping one day soon it will go away

I sit here on the corner.
That park bench,
Next to the tall buildings

It smells of smoke
Overworked waitresses and workers sit where I sit day in and day out
Wonder when things are going to get better
Sit down with there sorrows
Chain smokers who just want it to be over
I breathe it in because I am lost as well
I sit where the cars rush past, and don't stop for anyone
Where the sounds of people and cars clash on sidewalks and in the air
The bench where no one wants to sit, but has to in times of desperation
lost hope and sadness
Here I sit.
On the streets, and on the bench
Where a novel could have been written
Where that man passed out drunk
Where people of all races and creeds have sat and waited for an everlasting peace in their lives
Something that never came
Amongst trench coats and stained college sweatshirts are those who have sat here
The bench and the street more like it

It does not discriminate
Everyone of every class, race, gender, religion shares the bench
Not a single word can describe the hate
Sadness and lonliness
That has occurred on that bench
And yet here I sit
I breathe it in

Give me something. Anything to quiet this feeling; this hollowness. Is this what happiness feels like? Is this what it’s like to be content?
I’m empty. I am a vast shell of a vessel that’s filled with such potential, such hope; but I waste it.
I’m wasted.
I’m wasted on the thought of you. The thought of you with someone else. The thought of being alone.
I don’t want to be alone.
It hurts. It shouldn’t hurt.
I am empty.
I don’t know how to feel but I do when you’re near and I wish that it would stop.
I want to be happy always.
I don’t want to be dependent on you for the sun to shine. I don’t want to feel as though you hung the moon. You didn’t. I did.
I’m wasted.
Wasted youth. Wasted love. Wasted space.
If this is what it is to be content; to be happy…
It’s a numb feeling.
Everything is perfect and yet…
I’m empty.
I love with a burning passion, so much so that you get torn up and scorched in the process.
It is not a slow burn it is all consuming.
It consumes me.
I’m consumed with a lonliness when you’re gone and when you’re here I yearn to feed it.
I need to feel you, I need to be near you. I need to know you’re not leaving. I need to prove to myself that this is real and that you are here and that you love me.
If I don’t I burn, my fire stays in me and it burns, it burns, it burns.
I’m overbearing.
I’ve scalded you; it’s too hot, you can’t breathe I’m smothering you and I can’t stop.
You push me away and the flames grow larger.
But when you go, the fire slowly dies out.
I’m not passionate.
I’m not a writer.
I’m empty.

thought of something
And as I thought of that something I thought of that someone
That someone that I haven't seen yet
I haven't heard
Touched
Tasted
breathed or
Felt....  yet
That someone that I know I will find
That someone who makes me hold onto the hope of love
It's actually kinda sad how this person
This fictional character that I have created
Fictional yet 'undeniably' real
How this person has so much control over my life
My thoughts
My actions
And most people call me a hopeless romantic when they hear this
Yes that morbidly clichéd term that deceives all
Yet I have come to one final conclusion And that is
That this
person
is merely a manifestation of the human condition

Loneliness plops in my soul
like the daylight rain.
With a light of hope
hanging majestically under my heart.
My hand are nippy,
covered with ink and filthy red marks.
The whispers still echo in those domestic vistibules,
rumpling me under million ounces of guilt.
The spirits come and hum soft words to me, filling
my mind with deceitful lies.
The creeps glissade me
in sentences
aimed by their ugly tongues.
Making hope grow down
my maneuvers.
-Khushi

Lucy in the sky with diamonds
Close your eyes to the fractil light dear friend
Climb up to your sunsets and sundowns
Wash them of all lonliness
**** that hot afternoon sun
Far out man that's real far out
Television Air Conditioned
Gas stations
Are heaven on those afternoons
Well I can swim right in the Atlantic ocean
Right across to you
And we can build bombs together
To blow up the stars
You're fully aware of the power of fate
Handing you a ciggarete
Looking for a suicide
Looking into big blue eyes
Your looking at another lie