Being Me :Depression

What a wretched thing it is, To be me. For I crave the very pain, That makes me wish death upon myself. I seek silence Where darkness and light sprout, But all my bulbs break And I cannot sleep. I can't run, Because tentacles of anxiety grapple my ankles till I bleed. Pain washes over my body and the dreams that keep me alive, Come rushing out as tears. Slow cold drops that freeze on my lips so I cannot scream. I dart my hands into the infinity of darkness, But I only grasp carcasses of spiders rotting in their webs. I close my eyes I wake up to reality Nothing changes Only that, Every second of torture is now on the inside. Outside, am as normal as they say I am. Elliepoet