A/N: Hello goonies! I'm back and I wanted to start uploading my poetry bc thats all I've been able to write lately lol, writers block. I hope you enjoy! This is a very personal one and maybe some of you can relate.

Trying to explain my depression to my mother is one of the hardest things I have ever done.

Though, I thought she would know,

She has her fair share of issues,

She doesn't understand.

No she can't understand.

Her depression is far from mine.

They're nowhere near the same book much less the same page.

Or maybe I've just fooled myself into thinking we're in the same library.

"Stop talking about death and depression like they're a joke."

Well I'm sorry momma it's hard not to when you don't take me seriously when I tell you they've got me at their beck and call.

You laughed it off when I told you that I just spent all night wishing death would stop teasing and just take me,

Because the skeletons in my closet were having another one of their parties that I've been trying to get into but they always say no, because,

to them, I look weird.

I've forgotten to eat enough to the point where last night I couldn't be differentiated from them and we partied till the sun came up,

but now,

when I leave the closet I can't party with the land of the living because

to them, i look weird, like I'm dead, and diseased. DECEASED,

Because I look like one of the skeletons from the graveyard of dreams that I call a closet.

I keep running up the water bill as existential thoughts chase me for hours, I'm exhausted even though I haven't moved in inch. Just let the water do the running. Yes momma, I think about death.

I think about her a little more often than sometimes.

A little more often than not.

Why do you look so surprised momma? It's a little hard to believe you've never heard me the times that I've told you.

That sometimes I can't breathe because I can't understand why I am me and not somebody else because these lungs shouldn't be mine.

Depersonalization creeps up my spine.

Do you know how much it hurts to care for someone when you can only love as an existentialist.

Because thinking about how we will all be dead someday just doesn't mix with caring.

You ask me if I like this arrangement of flowers and I imagine them blooming as you wilt on cheap sheets in a nursing home I could barely afford, so I say no because they make me want to be happy because they make you happy but I'm not happy because you're dead momma, you're dead! Except that you're not. You're standing outside my room wondering why I spoke so coldly.

And I tell you they remind me of the dark thoughts and you say "then turn the light on."

but the light hurts my constant migraine of a brain.

And besides the skeletons don't like the light anyway.

Honestly I would stop believing in an afterlife if not existing didn't scare me senseless.

Where would you go?

What would the point of breathing now be?

Would it feel as numb as I was last night?

Have I ever told you momma? What it feels like to have muffled senses, and feel like you're dreaming when you are so awake the only thing you can hear is your heart beating

It's the only proof that you're still living

Derealization takes away my sense of feeling which scares me because someday when it happens there may be a razor near

I'm sorry momma I know we can't afford the water bill but I can't afford to lose my hour and half of locked door

Because that's what I pay my rent with, my body being the apartment

Depression is my landlord that I've signed a lifetime deal with,

When I was little you would say I have a beautiful imagination. But What about now momma?

What about now when I stare at the ceiling in the bathtub and in my mind I paint a picture of what death looks like on the blank canvas as the water rises,

She's beautiful, and stone cold, and graceful, and has a wretched smile, she's beautifully cynical with golden and red eyes, hair made of the legs of spiders, skin pale enough to make bloody marry green with envy, malnourished cheakbones. the water has reached my neck and  I realize I'm so close to seeing if I'm right.

She could be twins to my depression, younger sister to my anxiety, and murderer to my joy, and i realize how easy it would be to see if I was right as the water reaches my cheack

I turn suicide into just being too tired to get out of the bath before the water passes my nose, and depression drowns me

Mom says 'try painting a nicer picture. She'll seem less scary.'

But mom you don't understand It's not her I'm afraid of, it's that she might not be real at all

Momma says 'just have faith"

But momma faith takes so much energy and insomnia won't stop dragging me on late night walks,

She makes the starless sky seem like a better home for me,

So I become addicted to the back porch and the night winds,

They say dreaming is a rehab center for insomniacs but momma, I don't dream anymore

Because they all still lay with the skeletons

Momma says "it's ok you'll get through this and you'll do something amazing some day"

All the while she sits laughing, lurching on my shoulder like a vulture. Depression reminds me, saying "oh, darling, how adorable, you're so emotional. Don't get attached to this world, or the people in it. Because this life is only chapter one of your existence of eternity. And even if this world remembers your name it will end one day, being swallowed by the sun. So learn to not love, learn to be dead now and your final breath will be easy."

And she shows me the photo album of how everyone I love will die,

Yes, momma I was serious when I said I need medication

And man How I wish I could say all this, during our stupid little conversations

But instead when you ask me how often I think about death I just say "more often than not" and you say "wow I didn't think you really felt that way" and I laugh and say "yeah" even though I want to say how I've told you the extent and how I felt like suicide, but Instead I say "you should get me some meds"

"no I don't think you're that bad maybe just therapy" even though you said that months ago and you still haven't, I say "ok momma, that's ok."

A/N: mic drop? lol. I hope you enjoyed, I really like this one. I hope you enjoyed. Love you guys, and if you ever need to talk about shit like this, I want you to know I'm always available and that I've been there. hope you have a lovely day, bye

~Elena