My depression
is like
when my skin feels
like a prison.
It’s boney fingers
clasp around my ankles
and drag me down so far
the only voice I can hear
is hers.
She’s a bitch.
She’s married to anxiety
and together,
we enjoy threesomes.
and then sometimes its like
maybe
this
is
fine.
I met her
when I was 13,
I met Anxiety,
when I was 16
but I learned
their name when
I was 23
and learned
what it meant
to be
numb.
Or maybe I was 20,
when the orgy between us
was so intense
that pain in my chest
and the pounding in my ears
put me to sleep with the terror
that I was going to die,
in the middle of communications class.
My depression
tells a lot
of lies
like panic attacks are fun
and everybody hates you
Meanwhile anxiety
likes to
remind me
of every way I’ve made mistakes
and all the ways everything can fall apart.
and then sometimes
it’s like
maybe
this
is
fine.
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.
