It Is (Depression)It is a shroud of black velvet.
It is the violent ocean in the dead of night.
It is the monster in the shadows; the Vashta Nerada.
It is the final crash of symbols in Carmina Burana.
It is impossible to lift.
it is impossible to breathe.
It is impossible to see.
It is the only thing that can be heard.
It is why the stars disappear at night.
It is why every light drifts by without stopping.
It is why the gnawing starts and never ceases.
It is why nothing else matters in the end.
It is my disease.
It is my disability.
It is my misfortune.
It is my death sentence.
Ghost of YouDown on my knees for you
Begging please stop
Picking the good out of me
Heaving on the floor
I need you
But you're killing me
I look in the mirror
My reflection beckons back
Who is she?
Someone falling through the cracks,
That you have made in her broken heart
Someone begging on her knees for you to shut up
Just a girl who wants to be beautiful
Just running from the edge
Into this world unknown
Finding nobody, but the ghost of you...
The Girl on the BusToday I saw a girl on the bus,
who had the deepest sorrow glazed across her eyes,
she sat three rows in front of me and took the window seat,
She stared out through the glass,
sun rays peaking through the trees as the bus was moving,
the way the light hit her face, beautiful.
She traced an outline of a figure on the window,
then quickly looked around and rubbed it out.
I wondered what's on her mind?
her face expression showed a flicker between emotions,
from sadness and sorrow to quick bursts of happiest and joy.
She got up, the bus stop, she walked past and looked at me.
For a brief moment I felt her pain and her hurt,
every time shes been knocked down and every time her trusts been misused,
the way people cursed at her and the way people beat her,
all the times she tried to hide and all the times she sat alone and cried,
everything she wanted to be and everything she wanted to let go of,
the battle scars she reflected on her skin,
and the battle scars which were ref