Someday, I’ll tell them.
Someday after I’m sunk so deep in depression, I can’t breathe.
I’ll tell them.
When I think of the path others took,
And think of following them,
Only then will I say what I’ve done,
Who I am.
And even then, I’ll lie.
Lie because I don’t want to be weak,
Because those around me see it as a disease,
Or just a bad day,
That when I think of that path,
Some will say I’m the worst sinner.
So I keep it locked up,
Away from everyone,
Attempt to bury my heart,
Control it with logic and lies,
But it won’t work,
And when my heart breaks free,
The lies I’ve created, the logic I’ve followed will shatter,
And leave me with nothing but pain,
My mind will warp reality,
Keep dreams close to the truth,
Until no longer can I take it,
But seal myself to my doom.
An early death, a tragic tale,
Not just a loss of life.
Depression is not what you think it is.
It’s not some cloak to be removed,
Bad tooth to be pulled.
It is a beast.
And sometimes, one cannot defeat it,
Sometimes they are slain by it,
Suicide is not an answer to pain.
It is the only way, sometimes, that someone thinks they can survive.
Not all scars are visible,
Not all suicides are in the flesh
They are more often in the heart.
The heart, the birthplace of life and love.
Someone who lives fighting a beast every day,
Cannot escape without scars.
Perhaps you know someone who has the marks of the beast,
Or maybe it is you.