Submissions by Lili

I stopped writing poetry around the same time I started on antidepressants,
The thing is - I can’t seem to write without swimming in the sadness.

The thing is - I can’t seem to swim in the sadness without loosing my breath and beginning to drown in it.

As I drown I don’t slowly sink.
I fall with a weight on my chest that is the other sides of me, leaving scars as I go down.

The thing is - when they turn white, they need to be pink. When they are pink I feel the weight lift, so how do I get back to the surface without tearing myself apart?
...

I was prescribed candy today,
And I couldn’t tell you why.
I was prescribed candy today,
And it made me want to cry.

I was prescribed candy today,
They came in a large box
with 30 little candy’s inside
They looked like little green rocks.

They looked nice enough to eat as candy’s do
I was told to take one but I might take two.
If I take enough I might fall asleep?

The irony of it all is just a bit too deep.

It starts with a throbbing head,
A seconds pause, a moments thought,
Then your gone.

Sucked into the abyss, floating in space.
This is where you feel numb,
You feel empty,
You feel nothing.

Nothing you do brings back the feeling of feeling something, anything. Your mind goes blank and then a lightbulb ignites.

You put it on a pedestal, above everything else. you put a spot light on it so it’s the only thing you can see, or the only way out.

The cold stainless steel scraping across your skin cuts deeper and deeper,...

You watch each droplet grow in size,
bigger, bigger, bigger, GO!

it’s a race before your eyes, presented by nature upon your window.
You watch intensely, wondering which drop will make it to the finish line first.

It’s a race before your eyes, presented by the blade balanced upon your fingertips.
You watch intensely, wondering which drop will make it to the finish line first.

Your breathing is quickening with excitement,
Faster, Faster, Faster.

Your heart is quickening with adrenaline,
Unable to replace what is lost. ...

If I were able to look at myself with my own eyes, I would see nothing resembling what I let you see,
perhaps I would see thoughts.  
Raw, bleeding, black thoughts.  
 
Restless Words, memories, ideas; colours. Colours that would bleed together as water colours on cheap paper.
Though if colours are upon colours, upon colours, upon colours.  
 
   R. I. P.
 
The moment the paper tears, the cut... too deep, the smile drops,
almost before you hear the drip drop stop. Is my time running out?
 I suppose that’s how time works.