My Depression ( I Want to Die)

Blinded by
lies, bruised by
hate, broken by
misery, I walk
down the empty
hallway. My
Depression
overwhelms me.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

My ashes float
around me like
a bridal veil. I can
feel myself breaking
with each step I
take.

Haunting these
hallways like a ghost,
a lost cause, a drip
of blood from a thorn,
I let a tear slip.

I let the blood drip.
I'm intoxicated by
it. You are such a
load of shit. Yet, with

every passing minute
of every moment
of every hour of
every month of
every decade, my
love for you grows
nothing but stronger.

All the pills in the
world won't stop it
from killing me. I
know it's going to kill
me, and I just want to
get it over with.

But it wants my agony
to be slow, painful.
My Depression stirs
up every hurt I've ever
felt. It wants me to suffer.
It tells me I deserve it
for being the pathetic,
worthless,
budren,
lying-
whore,
I am.

It isn't wrong. But
I've tried everything
to make it stop, to
make it go away.

I know the only
permanent
solution, and I've
tried. I've failed. I
can't do anything
right. I can't even
die right.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

So, I'll carve
ribbons into
my wrists with
razor kisses. It
makes the hurt go
away. It's my only
source of comfort.

The harsh, cold
metal decorates my
body with scars. I
look ruined. Now I
know no one will
ever love me.

How could they?
Mirrors show me
everything. I see
every flaw in my
skin, every scrap
of cellulose beneath
it, every lie clouding
my eyes.

I've been told I'm
beautiful.

I've been told I
matter.

I've been told
lies.

My Depression has
assured me that I
am nothing but a
nothing who wishes
she was worth
something to
someone.
Anyone.

Fucking desperation
has driven me to do
things I never
thought I would.

Every lonely night,
my Depression holds
me close and tells me
how terrible I am. It
tells me I should hate
myself, just like
everybody else does.

They only pity me,
because they know I
am ugly and aren't
going anywhere.

Suicide thoughts
are the restful dreams
my mind plays over and
over again instead of
sleep.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I'm the reason why,
my Depression tells
me. I hate my body
so much I want to
leave it, but my
heartbeat and my
functioning lungs
keep me here.

I'm trapped. My
Depression promises
me it won't be for
much longer. I can
escape this Hell.

I want to die.

I want to die.

I want to die.

My Depression is
killing me and I
need help.

I can already see
the light at the
end and I know
that one day that's
where I'll be walking.

That's where I will
be sprinting. I have
to get away from my
Depression. I have to
get away from here.