Depression

In my smile, it is there.

In the sunshine plastered upon the pavement my feet graze

it lazes like a shadow

stretching out,

shrinking close,

attached to my soles,

strung up on my soul.

Barely a whisper,

the beginning of an idea,

the half period at the end of a sentence,

a dot resting beneath a question mark.

You aren't really happy, are you?

Upon my glowing skin, it is tattooed in purple scars

a secret code, an SOS

a final plea, help me.

Beneath the layers of self-esteem,

of caffeinated confidence,

it lies like rotting marrow wrapped in bone

to remove it would shatter my body,

to keep it would poison me.

It breathes its way into my lungs,

a toxic tobacco of the mind,

a cancer spreading throughout my life,

a rapist kneeling above me,

dominance drowning out my screams.

Please. 

Let me be free.

The murmur comes again,

the sweetest soft caress

confusable with a gentle kiss,

lustful bliss,

it seduces me into believing I chose this.

You are worthless.

Barely a whisper,

the beginning of an idea,

the half period at the end of a sentence,

a dot resting beneath a question mark.

Why exist?


The End

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