depression is a heavy pair of pants that stand on their own in front of me beside my bed on a rainy day on a sunny day to be honest, i never looked out the window OR i sat here like a bed of flowers in the shade by cold grey memories and thoughts of nominal motivation writing the story of my life in my head with a limp hand a pencil not a pen worn out eraser skipping the best parts hurting myself on the worst parts a suicide note and even that page is blank... every casual thought stalked by a scarier, more critical comment (thinking) (in) (parentheses) (?) (..) (...) (..) if this is where i fell, how did i ever get back up?
Advertisements
