Slipping

A try at slam poetry, about the struggle with depression and anxiety.

The Night wasn't particularly cold, but it certainly wasn't warm either,

and that was good enough for me, or bad actually.

Because there was nothing worse than being cold

and as I stood there in the soggy chilled hair, cool water on the pavement seeping though the fiber of my mix matched socks, I knew I was dead inside and it was only a matter of time

Before the death started seeping though the cracks in my smiles.

And the splitting seams of the scars on my soul, 

From fights and frights and flights galore. 

And tales of dreams and desires I would never tell to a room of peers or parents or perfect strangers. 

I've got miles on my mind, 

I hide from smiles behind smiles, 

when I'm dying,

Asphyxiation.

I'm dancing around in someone else's idea of a person. 

Sophistication.

Holding onto something I can never have and never really wanted. 

Affixation.

I'm cracked.

Some call them smiles.

But I'm slipping. 

Gone For miles.

The End

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