• Depression...
    It drags me
    down...
    down...
    down...
    into a pit of ever dark
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Depression tugs at my brain, pulling me farther down into the warm,
    yet ever-so-lonely bed.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Depression steals my friends, my home, and my siblings.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Depression turns my whole life black, forever laughing at my tears as I stumble blindly through the darkness.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Depression destroys the life in everything, turning everything into
    my simple, lifeless pencil sketches
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    I stopped.
    I thought.
    I’m dead.
    No time, nothing left.
    Big companies, trying to sell me happiness.
    Trying to give me pills to make me all better.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Depression sucks my very soul out of me,
    and drags it kicking and screaming down to the depths of Hell.
    Makes me feel dead.
    Lifeless.
    Useless.
    Undone are the seams of my life.
    Frayed edges distract me, taunting me with their whispers.
    It was so hard.
    Getting over the loss.
    It leaves frayed edges, broken pieces, cold glares.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Insanity overwhelms the mind of the depressed soul.
    Depression leaves destruction in it’s wake.
    Watching as the ever-bearing death cage
    is lowered into the cold, damp dirt.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    The freak show is watching me, like it’s vice-versa from reality.
    Like I’m the freak show.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    The frayed edges, still haunting me.
    Still hoping to destroy me,
    like they did everything else I once loved and cared about.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Constantly on the move.
    Never stopping for a breath.
    I can’t let it catch me.
    The monster.
    Named Regret.
    Named Hate.
    Named Death.
    Named Thought.
    Named Depression.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    I’m afraid to think.
    To look deeper and find my own fears.
    To let my weakness show.
    I might get caught.
    Just keep going, until I have to stop.
    Stop. Think. Dead.
    Regret.
    Sour as is sounds.
    It’s the bait, that pulls me into the deep thoughts of depression.
    It echos in my ear.
    “Stop...
    Think...
    BANG.”
    I’m dead.