my depression has always been
a great motivation to write;
yeah, it sounds kind of sad
but it's the pain what made me start
just him and me since i was twelve,
but last year?
anxiety joined to the party
without even being invited...
she's always there
to say hi before the sun has even raised
and again after i close my eyes at bed
she talks, and talks, and talks...
it's hard to make her shut the fuck up,
she's loud, noisy
her words are sharp
her voice makes me throw up
she looks like me
she uses my words
she has the parts that i hate the most;
every piece of myself that i've ever wanted to see dead
and depression's still there
like a silent lover
waiting until anxiety falls asleep
just a few hours
before the sun shows himself again
to watch me
crawling back to him
begging for numbness in the scent of weed;
at this point it's just another part of me
YOU ARE READING
the beautiful side of misery ¦ pink
Poetryart is nothing more than the way we have to express how beauty looks through our eyes but art, the real, purest and most captivating form of art is finding beauty where nobody else can so i slipped through the most morbid corners of my guts to portr...
