Depression Free Verse Poems | Examples
These Depression Free Verse poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Depression. These are the best examples of Free Verse Depression poems written by international poets.
always burdened with ambition but my lugubriousness would precook the proposition
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • August 31–September 6, 2026)
Weed for a pillow
she lies,
not exactly waking
not exactly sleeping,
washed up on the morning tide
released from all the secrets she was keeping
And so we wait.
As time stands still
we hold our breath and wait.
The rising of the sun,
the disappearing of the moon,
life goes on as we wait.
The pendulum in motion.
Time passing that we will never see again
yet still we wait.
We let time run through our fingers
as if we didn’t know its value.
Like watching money burn.
Sometimes it’s the thing to do
but… soon enough comes the day
we recognize our folly.
I'm sorry for all the hell you put up with,
as I was being dragged for "witch craft"
by those in-articulate one track puppets
doing their best to bury war-weary me.
We'll watch horror films on Shudder,
a distraction from the stomach cancer,
window closed & the shutters,
as I buried myself in your lap as I lapsed.
I wish you could see six day sober me,
still lingering on to your jumper's scent.
I sleep with it tucked to my chest
Your struggles I wish were mine all the least.
Your father doesn't mind, when I open
up your broken child-hood window,
cradle in your bed from the 90s
to finally fall to you this time...
sunset tries to set in her eyes,
since the day she slid
down the cracks
of the windowpane
scrambling,
legs
unable to
flip back up.
She can't
maneuver
around,
as concrete
little shards
have
penetrated the nerves
in her back.
She waits out
for the hope
of catching light
one last time,
a dream of
greenery
a hopeful
vision
hearing
birds
whistling....
Mouth dried up,
can't tilt
her head
to the side,
where the rain's
getting in.....
the brown leafs,
rustle on in
keeps her warm
from the howling
winds....
She dies from thirst,
after the thunderstorm,
when it became
first light...
sunset dies in her eyes,
her little left foot,
gives up the struggle.
I had to create two worlds to survive —
one where I simply live,
and one where I am truly me,
kept apart for my own sanity.
In the main world,
I am the prisoner.
I can't express, I can't be me,
controlled and hurt,
I am dead inside.
In the other world,
I am the goddess.
Strength to fight,
I soar above,
I show my true colours —
I am the dragon.
Should the two combine,
they are like oil and water —
the collision would be earth-shaking,
and I'm not sure I would survive.
DRIFTING
Adrift without an anchor
Leaking like a faucet
Couldn’t sing even in church
But still I held the hymnal
And stood anyway
In a place without you
After you left
I couldn’t sleep easily
But my cat helped
Because you were gone
I unexpectedly cried at times
I truly required you,
Somebody to keep hold of
In a blurry reality
In a vessel without
Oars and engines
Down a river
Drifting further each day
Please Return
Even if it’s as someone else
I loved you so much
I should’ve told you more often
My bait is cast
But no fish are biting
And I’m drifting.
I sleep with shadows
hollow dreams of lustful death,
pleasure begets sickness.
Beneath my eyes lies doubt
begging, pleading for grace.
I walk with shadows
consuming objects, life forms, moments–
Illusions of control.
My image dissolves before I do,
my outline fades into absence.
I scream with shadows
giving life to the everlasting eclipse,
our shrouds staining pavements.
Wraiths of darkness rise and scatter
like roots of a dying tree.
I answer to Shadow.
Light brings color and joy.
Looking down at the darkness I cast,
light has no place in my world.
They tore the plaster off but the wound was still real.
Infected by this earth of man and with no deal.
They didn’t see the wound grow, cut itself down and so deep.
The change happened so, so slow until the wound found its own feel.
The mind connected through, tried to fight the cruel wound. A barrier built deep inside, sometimes it wore down to unleash the cruel fool.
They tore the plaster off but the wound is still real.
No one asks what depression tastes like
It tastes like a rag used to clean blood and vomit.
Overstimulated and numb, draining me like a faucet.
Sleep, wake up, over and over.
Sleep.
Wake up.
What am I doing this for?
Sleep.
Wake up.
My worth wavers in my mind.
My strengths
My weaknesses
Sleep.
Wake up.
There’s a part of me that despises myself
And the other part wants to reject that part.
At the end of the road
If the only thing waiting for me
Is a mountain of mental corpses,
what then
Sleep.
Wake up.
Are you depressed because you’re sad?
Or, are you sad because you’re depressed?
I hate myself.
I despise
myself.
That is the feeling I chose.
Fireflies flicker like falling stars
that hover in a garden thick
with memories of times we spent
beneath a smiling moon.
Oak leaves gently ride the breeze
that softly blows its tender breath
and quickly dries the tears that fall
from sad and misty eyes.
Ghostly sounds of whistles blast
from ships now far away from shore,
their clearly outlined silhouettes
dark against the moonlit sky.
Thoughts congeal, a cold, hard mass
obstructs sweet memories of the past,
replacing them with vivid visions
of our last goodbye.
Eerie calls from gulls above
now echo cries within my heart,
its shallow beating reminiscent
of the pulse of time.
All too soon our love affair
became a part of fate's discards,
forgotten vows now languishing
beneath a distant moon.
Time without you here depresses me so.
Branches hang like ribs of an old shipwreck.
I walk through a quiet wood, calling your name.
Only a dry wind answers, rattling the dead leaves.
The path looks identical when not at the end of it.
I look at my hands and fail to recognize the skin.
The ground beneath me feels like it might give way.
I am a shadow cast by nothing at all.
If you are nowhere, then this is my only home.
I’ll remain until darkness envelops my outline.
Some days the world feels two sizes too big
Yet I walk through it like a ghost in my own skin
Nothing dramatic
Nothing loud
An unexpected heaviness settles into my bones
The kind of ache that doesn’t shout
It just whispers getting up will be a battle
Even the small things feel sharp
Light hits wrong no matter where I stand
People ask how I am doing
I give them the version they can hold
The one that won’t make them shift their eyes
The one not prompting a helpful response
Inside it is quieter than it should be
Darker than I ever admit out loud
A place where I try to keep moving
When every step feels like quicksand
there comes a time when we'll no longer cast
a shadow
and words once spoken - become the silent prayers of
those who still remember our seemingly short existence
and all the memories therein...
there is a convergence, an implosion of emotions
that appear ~ and then, at once are gone, leaving us
Alone in a crowded room
within which, even "we"
disappear...
written June 1, 2026 for Nette's Poetic Reply contest
There is a pub next door to a beauty salon,
On the main street of our town.
Men go there to drink.
All day and every day.
Next door to a beauty salon
On the main street of our town.
He stands,unsteady in the doorway
Pulling on the remains of a roll up cigarrette.
Lungs,already weak,inhaling right down to the last ash
.
Unkempt,unshaven,his eyes unsteady stare at nothing.
No longer believing in life, love or that tomorrow,
next week or year will be better.
Unlike the young girls, beaming with life,
sitting inside the beauty salon,next door to the pub,
On the main street of our town.