Depression


It’s the darkness under your bed

Lurking right behind your head

Racking up your brain, forcing you to think insane 

Giving rise to your fears, making you feel like shit

It’s the white spots you see when you close your eyes

Not wanting to see anything that reflects light

It’s the puny thoughts of failure, of being alone 

Which drag you down to your personal hell

And then they come and say 

“Hey, why are you so depressing?”

It’s not m

You, it’s that.

That thing which is dark, circling the drain, about to drown 

And you say, “I am sorry for spoiling your mood.”

While dying and withering away in the darkness which is your own. 

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It Is Simple


It is simple, if you ask me

There’s  a straight face, with a slight wrinkle

Faces make facade, make up is their war

Paint a smile, and away they go

Pretending, deceiving, all in sync 

Like a movie, slides changing 

Same message, different tone

The usual, the monotonous voice droning on 

It’s just a wrinkle on a smooth face. 

Woe


Why is it so that the rain falls, the wound festers, hurts to age, as time passes by, in the night lands of the dark side of life? 

The wound festers so, maggots make their homes,  wriggling, writhing in pain, the image pains me to draw into existence my woe! 

Meanwhile the rains falls, soaks me to the bone and I wonder if you know how it feels

How it feels to burn in the in the shadows of the night, for the stars are the only respite from the dreadful frightening scene 

Of my eternity, my endless suffering, my romantically morose mindless heart. 

I carry the load, I burn the fire using ash, like phoenix reborn every time.

Sigh on the lips, forming a good bye, a sweet blissful end, I hope to lie forever under the damp soil.  

Words


Caress the words, put them to sleep

Sing them a lullaby and send them off to bed. 

For a better tomorrow, a new story. 

A fresh start, another beginning. 

Spinning words, entwining lines on paper 

Putting ink dots, crossing all the T’s

In a single file, like military. 

Words will rise, from the ashen mouth 

Gone dry. 

Words will rise, like the sun in the sky 

From the womb of the horizon and shine. 

Sure 


Who is there but me for you? 

Little bitter, but with love so true. 

Catch me off guard, if you ever will. 

Never will you see me again, down the alley of tribute 

Gone are the days of pardon

Gone are the days of mercy. 

You will die for betrayal, if ever 

And I will smile as they put you out. 

Ticking Wound 


The city is not what they claim it to be 

People are not what they seem to be. 

Sadness doesn’t last forever 

And happiness is not a reality 

Erasing memories is difficult 

More difficult is when people just get up and leave 

Life is short, as they all say 

So why does each second passing by feels like an open wound 

Just waiting to bleed out. 

City has people, walking it’s paths 

Crosses and intersections

Buildings turned into homes 

Life breathed into the concrete jungle

And without them, the city will fall. 

Love is not as blissful as the stories claim it to be 

It’s sadness and longing mixed into one. 

The utter bother of it all, breaks the heart into two. 

Just like time, a ticking wound. 

Summer Days 


The days of freedom, I have never known

Days of reckless joy, breathless laughter is beyond me

Those summer days, carefree ways 

What are they but words to me? 

Something to long for, to earn from life 

Caged, we see the winter moon 

Lifeless, dull. 

There is no spring to welcome the warmth 

The yellow streak, the natural light 

The hope it brings, the celebration of rich harvest. 

Those summer days are always tomorrow 

And today we face the snow.