TW: Depersonalization-derealization disorder, slight sucide
Sitting on the floor.
Hands colder than ice.
Falling, never to be recovered.
Your on deaths doorstep, ringing the bell.
Inside it's dark,
Inside it's hollow, a void so deep there's no return after the drop.
Anything left is nothing.
Basic survival is all, that too is chipping away.
Damp, dark hair curled around a body.
Eyes filled with yearning for a release.
Eyes seeing the world stuntedly.
In the mind, there's someone controlling,
All to do is sit back and watch.
The world disconnected.
And that, that is to be less than nothing.
To stand on hill and stalk from afar.
No control over your own body, mind, and life.
To have a motive to do something, yet there's nothing you can do.
It is to be stuck.
To be lost.
To be useless.
That is a life, one type of a life.
That is my life.
Now I must continue,
Sleep tight.
YOU ARE READING
Concealed Thoughts
PoetryI would say I fixed this book, but it's not fixable... There was some slight editing but some chapters are much better than others. The main theme isn't depression anymore it a lot. Thx! ...
