Maybe we feel empty because we leave pieces of ourselves in everything we used to love.

-R. M. Drake

Falling into my shell,

Tear forming not out of weakness,

But of the destruction of myself,

Of something strong for too long,

 

Knowing that to end my life,

Does not end depression,

Only ends a story at the climax

And passes the pain of writing to another.

 

To block the windows behind my glasses,

I always smile big enough to close my eyes,

For all it takes is a beautiful, fake mask

To hide the broken soul wearing it.

 

I wished for so long for my sadness,

For it to replace itself with something beautiful,

But unable to wait, I took it out myself,

Not knowing that the beauty would die with the rush.

 

I wished for someone to notice,

Yet to have all eyes on me,

I quickly realized that I,

Had never wanted them too.

 

I could’ve remained suspended,

In stasis surrounded by lives,

That fluttered past me on display,

With painting placed over a hole in the wall.

 

Yet I couldn’t live for so long,

Where the best part of my day was the night,

The darkness hiding my tears,

And nothing but dreams to hurt me in my sleep.

 

Whenever I cried, I went to sleep,

To the point of crying making me drowsy by habit,

For the hollow feeling of my eyes,

Of my soul being so drained was exhausting.

 

Depression has been called a war,

One to battle in for your life,

To either win or die trying,

Yet I wondered what giving up would do

 

It was thirty one days before now,

With the light of dawn through thin curtains

That I found my answer in the bathroom

The tub water reminding me of roses.

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