Depression is a scarecrow
eating your rotten love
until it becomes skulls of self-hatred.
Depression is the midnight clouds
raining you with thoughts
freezing your toes
thundering
in flash of desperation
but they don't leave
even if you've asked them to leave.
Depression blocks your way out
the only path leads to a cliff
it's impossible to find another
for the road is pitch black
if you stay, they will strangle your neck
but
if you runaway, it's only an end of the track.
Depression is a war
that continues into forever
and it will keep on staying
if you let your world crumbles
if you don't believe there is hope of another
if you don't let people come at your door
if you keep hiding everything—it makes your heart sore
if you deny that there is more to this.
You don't have to put everything on your shoulders
you just need to fight
and darling just keep fighting
because happiness will come at any time.
YOU ARE READING
Dusty Ink.
PoetryThis is where my soul hides. It is a book full of words that combines into an art. My only runaway mess of reality. It is a pack of love, heartbreak, and the dark side of me put into one. So, here I scream my thoughts, will you feel my scars?
