Employed By Depression

I keep running away from almost every opportunity I get, especially with jobs.

But in reality, depression has become like a job to me over the past 10 or 11 years.

It’s consumed almost every ounce of me. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or not doing, it doesn’t matter if I’m with people or alone.

Every other day if not everyday is a constant struggle with having too much sleep or not sleeping enough, eating or not eating at all, feeling alone yet needing to isolate myself so that I don’t annoy people.

People tell me to find a hobby, to get up and do something, but even when I find a hobby.. or do something I feel I’m decent at, I either lose interest by finding another interest or I get bored or give up because it’s too difficult.

What seems to be my rock bottom, usually doesn’t feel like it’s enough to help me soar to the surface.

Yet despite all of these things, I’m still fighting even when I’m on my last straw.

I’m still fighting even when I feel as though I’m at my lowest point.

Someone once told me that it’s sometimes harder to let go than it is to hold on.

That may not be true for some people, but I feel as though it’s true for me personally because no natter how much I want to give into letting my body give up, no natter how many times I run away and create a new identity, no matter how many times I try to give up, for some reason, I snap out of it. I find something that motivates me without even searching for it and it’s enough until it isn’t enough again.

Cement Toil

This feeling, literally gut wrenching
Curdling, sitting and benching
People by the ears

Fizzy cauldron thoughts, boiling
Toiling with my thoughts
Quickly inhaling the droughts
Brought upon by the horrendous thunder storm
Exhaling shrapnel, cement falling bricks behind my eyes like a window to the soul, standing broken and all
A part

Physically ill, mentally off the pill
Taking away the thrill
Of bring criminally insane
Washing my life, drain
Straining my back from pulling on your heart strings

I mean well, things I say
They may sting
A bit, tearing through you, bring
Me your greatest pleasures
And make me your best treasure

Plummeting Breaths

I look for others to make promises for me
Ones I wish I could keep, so far away
From my own mind’s keepsakes and searching for sanity
It’s all I do, holding on to see and waiting
For something, any reason
Clarification as to why it’s harder to let go than to look up at the stars and find peace among the hollow stars that once were filled with gleaming shimmer

I look to others to breathe for me
Breaths that once came easy, now are tainted by the darkest attempts at finding fate
Shallow and fast strokes as my lungs move in and out, shielding what’s left of my pumping bloodened heart

Here, still here or there, everywhere I am at once and nowhere together with the personas I’ve created to sharpen the blades that I stabbed into my own back, punishing the gold rays that beamed from my childhood self with silver thrashes

Body Ghost

I know this area, sort of and something about it, everything reminds me of those I’ve never foot step here with before

It’s as though they’re haunting me like a spirit with unfinished business, only these are still alive as far as I’m aware

Taunted by the very taunt itself of memories I’ve never shared with certain ghosts of my past inwhich I created myself

Version of my past self live here, born here to someone as a stranger to myself and yet my heart feels something dark sitting in the seat of my legs

Lost in your own galaxies.

You’re lost in the sheets of your own mind and I wish they were the ones on my bed

You’re so slowly disappearing among the galaxies in your body and I wish they were entangled with mine

You’re no where to be found, out of  physical eyes sight and I wish you’d allow yourself to get lost in my words

You’re so lovely and you have no idea how much I care about you and I wish that you could read this and come back

– I wrote this for you even though you wanted space and I know that we’re just friends, but even as a friend I feel like you’re not yourself anymore and it makes me miss you so much more.

There’s confortability in every storm

As similar you are different                 even distant you are near                      you are the million, also one
Everything and nothing at all

With you, confortability is as evident as there are other kinds among us and with you, lies configurability and solidarity, plans to escape and find eachother

You say, tell me you don’t deserve please allow me, let me reserve              a place for you, myself inside your       mountainous framed heart, pour           unto me your burdens that trouble          all that you are, instead of double

As often as I tell you, I care
As the night falls, I grow tired                 of remembering that I let you go, retired before I even realized, knew, shots fired
but I still want to calm your storm

Tortured Blindside

Some people will betray you
Like a hawk with a carcass                    no matter how many times you return the favour                                               you’ll be stabbed for the times you didn’t

Some people will torture you with what was                                                                   and slowly poison                                     you with a deadly punch of sugar        right from underneath your blindside

You need to take what you know and throw it back                                        make them plead mercy in front of your sharp smile
Lure them in with a snide comment and kill them with your instincts