A Poem About Depression

Very powerful.

In my younger and more vulnerable years

Sometimes you can’t see the floor,
Sometimes there’s only one top or a vest,
But this time there’s more,
And the carpet is the seabed to a fabric ocean,
It’s as much a mystery to me as my own mind.

Mind you that’s fine, that’s fine, I’m fine,
Not fine as in the void between good and bad,
but fine as in the tip of an ink pen,
Narrow and thin and sharp.
I’m drawing a line in the sand,
I’m fine with being not fine,
but I’m fine.

When that human drive to do isn’t there,
Even standing is a chore,
so is brushing your teeth or your hair,
do you even care?
Why? Why should I care?
When my brain makes things seem so bloody unfair,
why should I try if the only thing I don’t sigh at is the sight of my ceiling at 5pm?

When you’re…

View original post 222 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s