° eighteen °

Depression.

it isn't a drowing feeling, it isn't an feeling that weighs on your chest.

it is the moment in which you look in the mirror and look down because you cannot handle your own reflection

it is when no matter how hard you try, the chemicals in your mind twist your wondering head and meander it to a hole

it is when i tell her "i want to die. please. help me."

i laugh at the end, masking away reality, but the sheer bone is true. it's true but i am too ashamed.

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