My Depression Poems

This is a Cry for Help

Its 2:57 a.m and I just want to write,

And yet every time I find a few words

They don't feel adequate for what I'm trying to say.

Maybe I don't even know what I'm trying to say

Maybe I shouldn't say anything.

I tend to be good at not saying things

Keeping them hidden under lock and key.

But every once in a while, I feel it,

I mean, really feel it.

My skin screams at me and my brain feels like its collapsing

Underneath the weight of all of these unformed sentences.

My body feels wrong in these moments, like it's never been mine at all-

And maybe I wish it wasn't.

Its 3:04 a.m and I have so many things to say

So many things to feel.

Too many things.

I wish I wasn't so easily overwhelmed,

And I wish I was capable of processing this.

Ever since he died, I get this feeling sometimes

It happens randomly

And everything just feels wrong.

I feel out of place in this world,

Like I've left my body for a brief moment

And I'm seeing my reality for what it truly is.

Empty is the best word I seem to find.

A shell of who I was before

Hollow and cold,

Not really living

Just alive.

In these moments air seems to escape me,

And I can destroy myself

Starve myself

Scratch at my skin as if something lies underneath it,

To no avail.

In these times, there is nothing that can help me.

There is no comfort to be found

Nothing but darkness by my side,

Nothing but misery left behind to swallow me whole

And continue to devour my being.

I can feel myself deteriorating

Walking closer to the edge every day.

And yet I can't bring myself to care.

Of course I wish I wasn't shrouded in negativity

And I don't want to be "too sad for you" anymore

But I can't help it when everything in my body is screaming at me that I'm wrong. 

That you're wrong.

That everything is so unfathomably, undeniably, incredibly wrong.

Its 3:28 a.m and I still have so many thoughts

And nothing left to say.