Staring at the iron ceiling,

Been ages since I got there,

This was supposed to help,

But nothing excited me here.

He spoke of something strange,

A light of hope to save me,

Something to thieve me off,

Off all the grief! Hope, I laughed!

Took me ages to agree for help,

And now here I am, mental they call,

Nothing is bad here, Why they laugh?

People hate the place, but they only help,

Lies, I felt, but intentions true,

Thus I nodded, relief in his eyes.

Long way to depression and,

Now a longer from it, I guess,

Lost somewhere, now he is my new guide,

And together we walked, journey long,

Not saying I am out of it, but still it's better.

Lone and lost is hard, 

Pulled me out,he did, but alas,

I had nothing to hold me to good,

And thus I went back to the phase....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(I drew the above collage in some rage I cannot remember of)

Quote:

  "It's my experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting, and for the millionth time in my life I wish for measles or smallpox or some other easily understood disease just to make it easier on me and also on them.''- Jennifer Niven, All The Bright Places.

Written by my demented mind.

~Chaahat