My Disease
How dare you proclaim that I am perfect!
See these scars?
I am weak!
See these tears?
I don't even know why I'm crying!
My mind is my prison,
keeping me locked up while depression holds the key!
I try to move past the little things,
but they are like cannons,
going off in my head getting louder...
louder!
To the point that I can't even hear myself think!
How dare you proclaim that I am perfect!
I was happy once,
but then my demons grew and possessed who I was.
They left me a mess,
a shell of the person who used to be alive.
Who used to be alive,
because now I feel dead inside!
Who I was was an inmate sent to death row,
charged with the crime of joy.
I was happy once,
back when depression was just a fairy tail,
and when I never knew the feeling of "emptiness".
I feel empty and cut myself just to feel something!
I choose pain,
because nothing else will work.
I would rather see my crimson life source running down my arms,
than to talk with a friend.
A friend that my sickened mind causes me to hate.
My emotions are like a minefield.
I try to be wary of my steps,
but then someone trips me up and I explode into tears again.
I would give anything,
to be able to run across that field without blowing up!
I would give anything to be me again!
I would give anything to rid of this depression
my oppression,
the bane of my existence!
I am not perfect,
I am not sad,
I am not happy.
I am lost, I am a prisoner, I am innocent.
I am a writer, an artist, a girlfriend, and a daughter.
I am a good student, I am a good friend, and I am a good person.
My only flaw...
My disease...
My depression.
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