My depression
is like
when my skin feels
like a prison.
It’s boney fingers
clenched
on my ankles
dragging me
down.
She’s a bitch
and she’s married
to anxiety
and together,
they enjoy
threesomes with me
and its like
maybe
this
is
fine.
I met her
when I was 13,
but I learned
her name when
I was 23
and learned
what it meant
to be
numb.
My depression
tells a lot
of lies
and anxiety
likes to
remind me
of how
the world
is only slightly,
organized
chaos.
It’s like
my muscles
are atrophied
and I’m
unable to move
from my bed
because
talking to a person
sounds like
a catastrophe.
But then,
sometimes
this
is
fine.
Those are my thoughts today. Until tomorrow, friends.
