if my teeth bled like your fingers on thorns

to the people who use "depressed" as a silly word

god, i look at these people.

their futures are roadmaps
paved out every step of the way

wear their intentions like
shots to the arm

probably try teenage rebellion at one point
but damn you, your parents are paying
all of your university costs and tuition

so do not complain to me, 
belittled student. 

i sit here, dangling my legs over the sill
of the second-story window. 

three months ago, 
i would have wanted to let go,
slip off and fall to the ground,
bones crunching like dry leaves.

i would have wanted to die.
did want to die. 

fingernails digging into palms, 
boiling water beating down on my bowed back,
i was humble for a reason.

collapsed to the earth, 
i assure you the only reason i got up each morning
was because i had to pretend i was okay. 

one morning, i couldn't get out of bed. 
pleading sickness and turning away, 
i stared blankly at the wall and stayed there. 

for four hours, i did not leave my bed. 
i lay there on my side, eyes wide and bleak and blank. 
i could not move, only token protests pushing past my lips. 

i was a prisoner, and only just realizing it. 
i remember dozing off in class, getting the sleep that i
didn't manage to grasp during the night,

i can recall sloshing my way through the day, 
concealer sinking heavy into the purple skin beneath my eyes, 
covering as best i could the large scratch on my arm. 

hollowness, that is the best word i can find. 
i hope to god that i never fall to the clutches of depression again,
because i'm only reliving it but my eyes still overflow like waterfalls

and i will fight with every fibre of my being
to keep from that again,
i swear i will never again be depressed. 
(to the best of my ability)

The End

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