where i fell

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?
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