Depression is eating me slowly.
Depression
is loving skin that isn't his to claim
Cutting it up and naming it, as his...his own beautiful scars.
Why doesn't it hurt?
Blood running down my own skin that soon became skin unknown.
But don't get me wrong for once
the pain has stopped
and i don't feel like i'm drowning anymore
As blood runs down i can feel the pain
disappear, that's why cutting skin
that doesn't feel like my own are scarred up with what i call remorse

Come,
Dance with me
Under stars
That have died
Thousands of years ago.

Come,
Sing with me
And let us raise voices
On winds that travel nowhere
And touch no one.

Come,
Eat with me
The food left moldy and rotten
By those who came afore us
On the table just out of our reach.

Come,
Lie with me
On a bed of sweat-soaked sheets
In a room rank with pleasure
Others shared.

Come
With me now
And see the life you were meant to have
But were too busy
With all your anxiety
And technology
And pharmacology
And ethology
And ideology
And erotology
To live.

Come,
See the life you were
Just late for.

I wanted my words to
move mountains
but instead
they barely
*push pebbles