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Blue Bomb Tick

I want to talk about depression,
and how it is the demon consuming half of me.
I want to talk about slowly crawling
up carpeted steps, because I am too empty to stand.
I want to talk about the monster that straps me to my bed,
and paralyzes me.

I want to talk about how depression is a thief.
It takes away who you are,
it slips hopes rug out from beneath your feet,
to land hard on tear stained cheeks.
I want to talk about being dead on the inside,
and craving to die on the outside.

I want to talk about self-medication,
How pain pills aren’t just for arthritis anymore.
Weed becomes the lifeline to end anxiety.
How you need something to numb you,
so that you can understand for once why you are numb.

I want to talk about slicing yourself open to live,
to remember your blood is still flowing.
I want to talk about crying for no reason,
and feeling guilty all of the time.

I want to talk about suddenly feeling the whole world’s pain.
How before long you need to escape,
and when you have a little energy you fixate on how.
Take some uppers,
to go the right speed.
My pupils are expanding,
I am an impending explosion.



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