Depression… Is like being in a dark room that you just can’t get out of no matter how hard you try.
No lights
No windows
No doors;
There’s nothing in it but you and dark emptiness
And it’s suffocating.
So cold,
So numb,
Yet it tingles at the same time
Like an electric current running through your body
Waking up motivated one day
And empty the next.
I’d rather die than be stuck in this deep darkness,
I’d rather die than be stuck in this never ending sadness that I call hell!
But if I did that…
Then it would win.
This disease that constantly puts you down,
Tells you you’re not good enough,
And makes the simple task of waking up every morning…
One of the hardest things to accomplish.
It would win…
The never ending battle with your own mind
The constant fight to keep pushing through all the pain-
when the only thing you really want to do is let it take over
It would all be for nothing.
I am not a quitter
This spell that my brain has cast over my body…
It will not be the end of me.
Every day,
The struggle will continue
But I will know that I am a fighter
And I won’t let it win.
I am trapped in an eternity of all consuming nothingness silently praying it is a nightmare from which I will soon awake.
What is this, anyway? This life? We wake, we cry, we love, we sleep…but for what purpose? No one person has a true destiny…a true course. No one can be given an answer. We are all one single insignificant spec in this universe. Completely unnecessary. Completely confused. Completely left in the nightmare. The vaccuum of monotony. Life. For what?
Left alone in the darkness of solitude trapped in her mind cold and desperate scratching around for escape things becoming tragic as all hope was lost in the depths of the void
A mask covered her face as she was being betrayed and manipulated by someone she loved so dearly
Genre: Dark, Depression, and Hurt
A Soul less Existence by Barbara Hunt
Left alone in the darkness of solitude trapped in her mind cold and desperate scratching around for escape things becoming tragic as all hope was lost in the depths of the void
A mask covered her face as she was being betrayed and manipulated by someone she loved so dearly
A witch with a disguise of compassion and love looked back an evil grin plaguing her face
The evil seeped down turning into tentacles as an evil laugh erupted from her lungs as she smelled pure terror
Capturing her the darkness licked at her heels casting away all hope and love slowly leaving behind a shell of who she once was
As she took her last breath her pure soul stolen she warned the people she loved of its true colors and closed her eyes embraced by the warmth of peace
She stared at it a carbon copy of herself stared back smiling exposing it’s horrible jagged teeth and a dead expression
Genre: Dark, Depression, Scary, and Family
Family Destruction
by Barbara Hunt
Dark and sinister it was as it stared down at her a devilish smile played on its lips as amusement raised in its eyes
She stared at it a carbon copy of herself stared back smiling exposing it’s horrible jagged teeth and a dead expression
This monster was of the worst in nature and as she stared at it she became cornered as it pulled her down into the depths of the underworld
Sealing her fate as no cries would ever be heard she closed her eyes delving further into the abyss she uttered it’s name in the eternal silence mourning the loss of peace
Shivers race up my spine
Mouth dry, Fear runs high
What Darkness here, what presence doth cause me so much Fear
I cannot say, I won’t!
This is not meant to be known
Genre: Anxiety & Depression
The Fear I Hate
by Alayah Esotera
Unusually quiet, no familiar sounds, not a soul around
Just dead silence, it hangs over me like a white sheet upon the deceased
The fog hangs low, the air is dense, nothing now is making sense
I wondered, what is this dead of night, Darkest hour, lowest light
What is this dead of night, this dead of night causing my Soul to blight
No hope, no will, just frozen silence
Shivers race up my spine
Mouth dry, Fear runs high
What Darkness here, what presence doth cause me so much Fear
I cannot say, I won’t!
This is not meant to be known
I feel it rising once again, I feel the presence in my head
Stop I say, Stop I yell! Is this to be my eternal Hell
My Hell on Earth, my lonesome self, my failed Worth
What now shall become of me
If I run, am I really free? Free from this madness, free from me
No. I won’t go. I shall stay deep inside my troubled brain
For if not for my mind, where would I be
It’s what keeps me safe from me
The fear I loathe, the fear I hate, the fear that makes me feel this way
Consumed by feelings dark & cold, lonely, slowly getting old
Fear of people, fear of fate, fear of all the things I hate
Depressed, ashamed, so much pain, So much lost with nothing gained
Will this ever go away…
No, it is here to stay.
Eccentric maybe…but I know that I’m in love but my demons they torture me. My Love. Have you ever closed your eyes and just pictured bliss. Or even better yet dear love; closed your eyes and seen shear terror amidst your bliss? To love unconditionally, my soul? My dear and sweet heart. My soul tear at me, yet I can not find the person to fill my void. I’m trying to love myself. But where can this love come from if it has literally died and dried up from my life.
Genres: Love and depression
To love a life
by Christopher Hughes
My Love? How dare I address you so?
Or maybe I’m the crazy one…
Eccentric maybe…but I know that I’m in love but my demons they torture me. My Love. Have you ever closed your eyes and just pictured bliss. Or even better yet dear love; closed your eyes and seen shear terror amidst your bliss? To love unconditionally, my soul? My dear and sweet heart. My soul tear at me, yet I can not find the person to fill my void. I’m trying to love myself. But where can this love come from if it has literally died and dried up from my life.
It’s quite painstaking…to say the very least. Your soul has left your body and yet what do you do?? Your yesterdays are gone. You can’t take them back. Your heart yearns and begs forgiveness yet you never get any. Do you really deserve forgiveness? Or should you just continue to beg?
I try to keep my head high and be hopeful, but finding a love and losing it is a hard one.
What is love?
To me it means this: Giving yourself unconditionally to someone and despite their faults and failures…you accept them unconditionally. Yet I have failed the ultimate sin of infidelity. Oh my heart and soul…how you torment me.
First we must dig within ourselves to love ourselves.
emotions have always meant the most to me
I mean, really
do you think there’s anything in life
not worth feeling?
words slither through our skin
and enter our bodies
like my brain emits T.H.C. ;
Genre: depression, addiction, sad, suicidal, dark, drugs, confused, empty, bitter
Misery’s Dispensary
by Nick Meridionale
emotions have always meant the most to me
I mean, really
do you think there’s anything in life
not worth feeling?
words slither through our skin
and enter our bodies
like my brain emits T.H.C. ;
T.
H.
C.
this
head
can’t
take
hell’s
campaign;
the
hanging
chord,
the
hop
from the chair
this. head. can’t. take! hell’s campaign!
the hanging chord, the hop from the chair…
the hanging corpse!
common symptoms include:
blotched eyes and dry sweat
depending on what high you’re aiming for;
joy or sadness
I cough and I choke,
trying to fill my lungs
up the most,
but my throat becomes a waterfall
layered out in smoke
and I ponder if my mother will witness
my ghost
after she lowers my body into an eternal and
earthy comatose.
I think the most miserable types of people
are one’s whose bodies have become
empty and dried up rivers
where even dead fish can’t deliver
satisfaction to the bellies of vultures
our hearts can’t get
accepted by society’s norms or cultures
we are different types of people
who feel much deeper than others
we hear words heavily,
and we listen with keen ears
so I had my first high
and suddenly
my empathy was at an all time high,
I was able to see my
own desires and dreams
physically by my side
and I could smell the future’s meadow
but after a few hours
I returned to my past’s shadow
now that I’ve had my last hit
it’s hard for me to feel it;
the emotion.
the passion.
I’ve fallen in love with the fashion
that withdrawal dresses me in
instead of clothes I wear my skeletons!
“save that hit for
a rainy day.
and if your head
feels like a hurricane
then take as many as you may.
if your vice keeps you dreaming
at least it mutes the sounds
of your demons screaming.”
lately I’ve been stuck in my creative ocean
I used to row a boat and feel the motion
of the waves;
typing words down on a cracked phone screen
just to feel solace
under the hot summer sun
but I’ve lost a paddle,
I’ve broken a few wings
so when these sharks circle me
and they start to sing
I fear that I may die.
I feel death in my tiny stone soul
consuming my heart
and continuing to grow;
so when the sun screams at me
and my skin starts to crow
I long for the colder climates
of the coffins down below
I love feelings
I love feeling sad, even miserable
I love feeling happy and joyous
jubilance is a fruitfulness that I rarely emit
and morbidity has scrutiny when it fishes
for the bigger catches inside of me
once the sun dries me up, and
depression devours all that I have to give,
my river will become the trench
that murderers bury the victims
they deemed unworthy to live
my soil can’t decay, it actually
grows wealthy at the taste of lifeless skin
I kiss the corpses of young women and children
to feel a sustenance
that beautiful women
and children’s eyes
once poured into my soul,
I once held an abundance of substance
now I’m a bag of blood,
abusing myself by using substances.
I’m a bag of bones
amusing others, swearing I know what substance is…
but as the days go on,
and the sun’s volumes become more and more immense
I will decay and feast on whatever
the devil can dispense
this sobriety is painfully subsiding,
it’s fastening the blade to my wrists
how many cadavers does a dying man have to kiss,
to confirm he has a pulse,
and swear he’s not one of them?
sitting in this cell of mine counting bricks to pass the time
800 and 9 or was it 10 shit ill have to start again
paced the floor a 1000 times from the bed to the chair
just aint getting any were
out the window freedom calls
across the yard over the walls
Genre: Prison, Depression, Loneliness
counting bricks
by lee pettengell
sitting in this cell of mine counting bricks to pass the time
800 and 9 or was it 10 shit ill have to start again
paced the floor a 1000 times from the bed to the chair
just aint getting any were
out the window freedom calls
across the yard over the walls
but the bars i cannote budge
freedoms there but out of touch
so its back to counting bricks again wish i could stop this silly game
but its that or think of you like i always seem to do
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