low

I made the bed at 3 PM

I haven’t cleaned in weeks

I don’t know what I eat these days

I don’t know if I sleep

My laundry’s piled on my desk

And work litters the floor

I’ve lost the energy to live

But don’t care anymore

The world is pressing through the walls

I can’t get out of bed

I don’t want to be useless, but

I can’t escape my head

A day, a week, a month goes by

It all blurs into one

I fall behind, but guess it’s fine

There’s nothing to be done

Maybe I should worry that

The nightmares have come back

Or that I make myself feel sick

Or my life is not on track

But instead I’m tired

So I think I’ll close my eyes

Maybe when I open them

Everything will look alright.

prompt: depression is…

depression is

waking up more tired

than you fell asleep,

snapping at people

too close on the sidewalks,

fingers caked with mud

and dirty floors

that it would take too

much effort

to clean.

depression is

words like weights

that fall with dull thuds

at my feet, and

quiet music and

being too little

to hold.

depression is forgetting

who you are

and wishing you could

sleep away who

you were

because you’re not sure

if you’ll ever be

anyone

again.

depression is

breaking and

falling and

lying facedown and

wondering what it means

that the world keeps on spinning

and sometimes I forget

that depression is also

getting back up

again.

sleep

i would say i long for

nothing but sleep

but this would be a lie; i long for

dreamless sleep

uninterrupted sleep

restful sleep

deep sleep

the kind of sleep that

you wake up from and

feel well rested afterwards.

this sleep is

impossible

for me; this sleep

is drugs and broken

eyes and shadows

that pull from behind

each step like

weights;

this sleep

drags

and refuses to be

forgotten or left

behind; it clings

desperately to my ankles

and refuses to be

shaken off.

useless

too much for me

too much for you

what’s someone

like me to do?

too much sadness

far too numb

too uptight but

too undone.

too much crying

too few tears

too much time in

too few years–

too much for you

but not enough

too bad you’re too

easy to love.

 

sorry.

“how’ve you been?”

i don’t really know.

sorry.

“are you doing okay?”

no.

sorry.

“what’ve you been up to?”

worrying, picking my skin,

wishing i were dead,

skipping meals.

sorry.

“are you good?”

not really;

i’m generally a

pretty shitty

person.

sorry.

sorry that i couldn’t be

fine

and that i’m an inconvenience

and a burden.

i just want to

be alright and

instead i’m shutting down.

don’t ask me how i am

because i can’t lie

right now.

friendship

why are your hands cold?

why do you cry?

when you’re a failure,

why do you try?

how do you breathe

when nobody speaks?

why would you look

instead of just leap?

you are worth nothing

you’ve wasted your tears

I will not love you,

but be your worst fear.

anonymous

is it better to be known

or to be heard?

to be invalidated

or to be honest?

their silence is stifling

so I fill it with words

I never meant

to say;

hide behind a web

of woven lies, a cloak

of disgust and exhaustion–

tonight, I will

sing

myself

to sleep.

monster

I live in the shadowy places

under your bed.

I am the footsteps

on creaking stairs.

I feed the quiet voices

in your head,

When everyone leaves you,

I’ll be there.

I live in the night, so the day

you will dread,

I promise to you

nobody else cares.

I’m easy to anger,

so watch where you tread,

And remember that you’re

my nightmare.

 

honesty

I’ve spent so long

running

from demons.

so long trying to escape

curled, thin claws

scraping away at my scalp.

so long breathing

through fog banks and

cloaks and freedom I’ve never tasted.

so long pick, pick, picking

away at layers of skin

to see if my heart’s still beating.

so long pretending

to be somebody they wanted

me to be, to be somebody

I knew I wasn’t.

so long ignoring voices

ignoring their words, ignoring

their space in my head.

so long trying to focus

trying to be perfect, trying

to get it all done, to do

a good job.

so long hoping

that someday I could be

like them.

I’m not.

some days, that’s okay.

but today, all I can see

is numb and flawed,

and I would rather

not

be

here.

 

 

prompt: the most expensive person you’ve ever loved

sixteen years of ticking clocks,

fifteen bottles of tears,

fourteen weeks of meals unearned,

thirteen shattered mirrors.

twelve ribs bruised and purpled,

eleven careless wishes,

ten fingers soft in signing,

nine years of burnt bridges.

eight summers growing up,

seven hearts that strayed,

six years old and silenced,

five pills every day.

four seasons spinning onwards,

three words I never said,

two more years of mistrust,

one protest to the dead.

all the costs stack up

I don’t know why I try

self-love is impossible,

but if you ask, I’m doing fine.