Tag Archives: depression

innate.

i feel it pulling
[me] in;
is that how it is
for [you]?

not even
begging, but
knowing i will
surrender.

follow it,
feel it,
obsess and
crave the purge.

i can almost
feel the pain
before i embrace it;
almost etched
into my skin
before i collapse
into the sharp
embrace.

i envy
her willpower
and control.
i envy his
distortion.
i envy the complete
surrender
to a distinction
of control.

this innate;
this blood
that tears through me;
this tremor and
insatiable
imagination.

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request.

there is the realisation,
that this is your life:
and you’ve spent more than half of it
wishing it was over.

take me now,
the tearful plea each night;

take me now,
the gutless desperation;

take me now,
so i can forget;

take me now,
before the game unravels;

take me now,
let this be the last time.


implode.

because
it feels like,
my heart
is still breaking
multiple times
in the day.

because
the pain
and grief
continue
to obliterate
my lungs.

because
every step
outside the shell
is opportunity
for panicked
collapse.

because
i have only
two gears:
self-destruction
or
cowering solitude.

because
why sleep
when the hours
are an anxious monotony
of every terrorising fear
and every disappointing flaw.

because
everything hurts
but “so it goes”:
still my heart beats
still my lungs inflate
still my brain implodes.


[okay]?

what happened?
it’s okay.

where did you go?
it’s okay.

how’s your heart?
it’s okay.

is it dark?
it’s okay.

are you alone?
it’s okay.

when will it stop?
it’s okay.

why not?
it’s okay.

it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.
it’s okay.


organ donor.

slice me open,
take my lungs:
they have overcome asthma;
broken the limits of anxiety; and
suffered the deepest grief and pain.
still i breathe.
take my lungs.

slice me open,
take my liver:
it was once clean and pure,
until annihilated in a moment;
but time and time over, proof of natural restoration.
still i heal.
take my liver.

slice me open,
take my heart:
it is cool to touch;
ice-like and made of broken stone;
simultaneously rough and fragile.
still i live.
take my heart.

slice me open,
take my [life].


infinite.

imagine if we met,
before time had burnt us;
before the heat
was pooled at my feet.

i would clasp your hand
for eternity;
and the grey burdens
would be warmer and shared.

silence could protect us,
as we built a nest:
preparing for hibernation
in an infinite winter.


switch.

the lid
is over-flowing
with familiar
self-loathing.

but a different
kind of tremor;
no tears and
just cold, dark eyes.

no heart
can warm me.
i hear your name
and shiver.

memory and
my head aches.
the switch flipped
the wrong way.


A N D.

i play video games
and watch cars
drive past;
louder and faster,
then smaller and
silence.

find solace in
blind, unconditional
dependence.
soft and forgiving,
then warmer and
silence.

scars and bloody bruises
shake my shoulders
and i wear the pain;
fragile and tender;
then war wounds and
silence.

no more words
and no more tears;
her heart is empty again;
dull and dark;
then grey and rotting and
silence.

food is tasteless
and dreams offer
reluctant fuel;
extract my memories
then mute the pain and
silence.


loose.

i wish away
this life
so often;
in favour
of the one
where my hands
are warm,
and my skin
is clear.
and your shoulder
never gets tired
of cradling
my head.

my fingertips
so trained
in the art
of sculpting
your scalp;
your eyes
imprinted with
my tiny face.

my eyes
are aching, boy.
my hands
are cold and cracked.
i am trying.


everything.

never felt
more alone,
more misunderstood,
than this day
where i have
everything.

and you know
the pills
mean something,
but they can’t
dull the lonely;
everything but nothing.

and you know
you can keep
repeating;
lying to her and yourself.
but you don’t want me.
just stop.