Depression is a curse.
It’s a feeling, but a being, but something else
all wrapped up into one.
It writhes within and cries terror.
It’s dark, it’s uneasy, it’s what’s at the bottom of the lake.
When you lose everything and everyone,
it’s hard to stay on the tracks
until you notice you were pretending
and didn’t have anything to begin with.
Tell me it’s okay. I know it’s not, but I want you to tell me anyway.
The world is passing by in a wisp of smoke and I’ve lost sight of the ground.
Tell me who you are, who I am. Speak your words as loudly as you can because I can’t hear you from all the way over here.
I want to slow it all down,
take it back
to an abandoned, dusty town,
ride my bike down the alley
and make out with an old flame,
pushing him against the wall
while no one is watching.