My Poetry About the Mind And Depression

Mind Games

I can't do a thing,
My mind is a flowing torrent.
The chances of me thinking straight,
Not being confused,
Are about the same,
As stumbling across a gourmet dinner,
In the barren expanse of the desert.
Words don't come easily,
Stringing them together,
Is a near to impossible task.
Everything looks different,
As if not really there.
I can't be sure that anything is real.
My own mind confuses me,
Turning me in constant, vicious, circles,
It can't be a good sign, can it?
Writing about my feelings,
Is about the only thing i can do,
It's pathetic.
Even looking at words,
Hurts my fragile mind-
Better not cry,
Better not scream too loud,
My mind can't take it.
I might finally give in,
Lying, collapsed on the floor,
Looks so inviting,
Some of me think.

5th Of November 2000

What Depression Takes Away

Bright eyes,
Smiling face,
Where have they gone?
It left no trace.
Uninhabited holes,
A smile never true,
You wouldn't believe it,
Unless it were you.

Every day is a struggle.  Each new breath is more painful than the last.
Your body, every single muscle, bone, tissue and vessel aches for freedom.  Freedom from this nightmare.
Pain comes with every movement.  Just forcing yourself up from your never restful slumber hurts your being, your very existence.
Words seem like never ending stories.  Each word has to be painfully processed, through the worn down passages of your mind.  When is finally reaches the end, you have somehow passed by all the other words.  Leaving you with a fragment of the story - never to be re-told.

September - October 2000

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