literature

Depression

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EchoInTheVoid's avatar
Published:
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Literature Text

This feeling, it pollutes my very core
Leaving it rotted and tearing apart piece after piece.
It is a black thing, corrupting everything it brushes against
Leaving me in a will drained state.

Depression; a tired rage or sadness
No one has come to understand.
A flash of pain follows every thought of family and friends,
Leaving me with my head in my hands begging for an end.

I have not a single word, not a flick of my tongue;
That can even come close to describing how I feel.
My whole body feels like it is cracking into pieces
Planning to leave me as nothing more than a face smiling in a frame.

I’ve turned all that I loved against me,
Now ‘tis the time I answer for my crimes;
I can feel my mind falling into an un-savable saddened depth
Its swimming in my skull trying to find a way to drown itself.

I don’t know why depression in habits one’s being,
Nor do I understand how it has come to be
But it corrupts,
And destroys all that is dear to me.
If only I could permanently escape this, I hate this feeling and I know it forces me to turn all I love away.
© 2012 - 2024 EchoInTheVoid
Comments7
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Blood-Banker-J's avatar
I like how you describe depression as a tired rage cause I have a lot of rage before my depression. I always thought of it as a sadness but it goes deeper than that. It begin with some sort of nagging frustration and then it becomes overwhelmingly undefeatable or so it seem