Help Me

Depression. I have lost the will to live- A hollow shell on grey earth, I sit placid and worthless in my room, Contemplating not taking another breath, Contemplating strangling my aching brain. There is nowhere more deep and terrifying than my mind- Black cancer swallows brain-cells and chokes the life from limbs. I am no longer safe in my own body, but I can’t get out, screaming escapes Behind closed teeth, I have built a prison for my tongue, sadness is silent. I don’t care... I sit in a rocking chair with my hands on its handles, a vision of sickness. The room is a ghost story- dimly lit by dull window light, grey evening clouds strolling Over the dying sun, shadows flickering over the whites of my eyes, the rhythmic Groaning of a wooden chair- echoing and searching for escape, the peeling of old Paint, dry skin, tears streaming down my face, beastly hands- blood on pale skin. Cobwebs decorate the mirror- spider-silk- reflecting neglect, nausea, pain- it blurs And hurts-ritual sacrifice in the temple of my skull, my demon-shroud- I hope the death of me will make you proud.