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Literature Text
The whispering wind drops off memories on the road
Smells of winter.
Foggy trees, hidden flowers, fleeting scenery, everything blurs
The maze of my brain.
Shivering as if I was drunk with grief
Depressive liquor.
Human wreck stares at me, hollow gaze
A mirror.
My past lives are hung on the wall of oblivion
Reborn from grief.
Eternal darkness reign above me, on this oppressive night
Snows of coal.
The image of your grave stuck in my head
As dead as you.
Literature
This Thing We Call Depression
There's a story I'd like to tell,
A story of a girl who was diagnosed.
Diagnosed with a terrifying thing,
Something that would threaten her life for years to come.
Something that she could never escape,
No matter how she ran,
No matter how she struggled.
This diagnosis was a horrific thing to the girl,
Although, not surprising at all.
The symptoms had swallowed her for days,
Weeks,
Months.
Months of this thing inside of her.
This thing that we call
Depression.
There are people who tell her,
"You're only sad."
However, that isn't the case.
See, she was never diagnosed with sadness.
Everyone knows sadness.
She was never diagnosed with emo
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
Literature
an apology to anyone who'll listen
It begins with a wish
and ends with a sigh.
I am in love with boys who
don't exist and girls who I sometimes
pretend are myself. Spineless,
spiteful, and one hundred percent
sporadic,
I'm becoming undone.
When I was
younger I thought it
was a sin if
your parents didn't
love each other. Now I
know that it's
just the way this world works.
And hell,
I need you right now;
to tell me that
gaining four pounds in
three days is typical
to tell me that
living in a dream every
second is perfectly okay
to tell me that
I'm normal, that I'm
still sane, that I'm not
going to close
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Comments84
exquisite.
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