Depression

Sadness overwhelms every aspect
of my being
I can't think
without the pain
flooding into my brain
all I feel like doing is
lying down in a corner
and crying until my body cannot
muster up anymore tears
so here I lay
crying without reason
thinking without control
and acting without sense

I reached for the brown bag that sat at my feet, and lifted it up to my chin. Tears ran down my face, causing my face and eyes to redden. The paper ruffled, covering up the soft sound of my sobs and the trickle of the thick red material hitting the floor. The bag brushed my lips, and the liquid poured into my mouth. I then grabbed at the razor by my feet, and brought it close to my chest. I held the object close, and, without thinking, I pressed it firmly against my lower wrist. I had the feeling, then, that I had been searching for. Between the razor and bag of liquid, I was on the ceiling; watching the girl with black and blonde hair suffer. She slowly dropped the razor, and her eyes rolled back; she had passed out. Her motionless, lifeless, body kicked over the bottle within the brown bag before she disappeared.

I.
I ask myself if it makes me a bad person.

Am I really that vain, insecure and egocentric?

Yes.
Yes I am.

I can’t get enough.

I’m going back through my old blog posts. I’m finding the ones with lots of comments that I remember got a good reception… and…

And I’m bathing in the compliments. I rolling back and forth, rubbing the positivity into my flesh.

I think I’m hoping I wash the vanity off in the process…

Despite that I won’t.

II.

Why do I deserve it?

Because I’m a good writer? Maybe.

Because without it, I wouldn’t be satisfied with my ego on its own? Probably not.

Because…?

Does it matter?

I look at these blogs and find people who are wonderful at what they do. Nothing they do is bad. It’s always perfect. When I think of these people, I wonder:

“Could I ever be that good? Could I ever achieve this literary genius and prowess?”

It sat there,
Cold,
and
Lifeless,
Limp and pale.
The two girls brought over a metal pan,
With a spongy plastic bottom.
One brought over pins,
The other,
Knives.
It was all I could do
To keep myself from getting sick.
One pinned one end down,
While the other pinned the other,
And then they started cutting.
I couldn’t hold it in,
Tears streamed down my face,
And I ran.

Why are hearts made of so fragile materials?
So fragile,
Like the hand blown glass.
It takes so long to put them back together
when they break.
And even when they are put back together,
You can see all of the cracks,
And chips,
Where the one you loved smashed it into a million pieces.
What’s the point of fixing them,
If they just look worse when you do?

The sky is clouded over,
And snow silently falls,
Like frozen tear drops
Slowly sobbed out,
By the most beautiful of angels,
Mourning for the one they loved,
And lost,
Praying for another to come,
But horrified by the wait,
Because it took so long for the first to come.

Today,
I decided to dig through my dresser
To find my only black clothes.
My only black pants,
My black shirt.
Both so old,
And faded.
They were there at the bottom
Of the most cheery dresser anyone could have,
Rainbow upon rainbow
Of the most colorful shirts and blue jeans
But they were there,
Reserved for a day like today.
My mood is so dark,

Your eyes look so lonely and needy.
They want to say something,
But your mouth can’t udder a word.
What is it you need
That your eyes are so desperately seeking?
I want to help you,
But I need to know.
Please tell me.
You can trust me.
I promise I won’t tell
So whisper me your secret
And then
We can be lonely together.

You stand on the outskirts of every conversation
Just looking,
Watching,
Observing,
And soaking up everything that happens.
I tried to ask you out,
And all I could do was stutter,
And be silent,
But you knew what I wanted.
Even though I was rejected,
It was ok,
Because you said no so politely.
You said you weren’t ready for another relationship,
And I understand.

I smile as I walk down the hall
everyone thinks I'm so happy, no worries
but they don't know me at all

In side I'm screaming, fighting demons
like I'm wearing a mask
Everyone thinks I'm always am happy,
but I never truly am, and when I am it doesn't last

When I don't smile people notice
they ask me "What's wrong?"
But I can't tell them "I haven't been happy all along"