my depression: blue boy

My body went through a dark wave of emotions before tossing me into the sand of my mind.
“It’s a desert in there.”, I mumble as the tears well up in my crystal ball eyes.
Saltwater sizzles and dissolves on my skin, but I try to smile.

I tell myself that one day something will happen and I will realize that it was all worth it.
But it’s a desert out there, tears aren’t of any value, and crystal balls get smashed.
I will fight like there is a chance – but fade like a bad habit.

He is lively, maybe stubborn, but beautiful – and his hair looks as if he’s submerged under the depths of my tears.
I worry that everyone in my life will struggle against the only thing to quench my dry tongue.
I am in pain, and I don’t want anyone to feel like I do at the end of the day.

It’s nights like these that I stare at anything that can cause destruction to myself.
I watch my insides break apart like buildings when they are no longer wanted.
I suppose it only makes sense that my outside is as ruined as my mind and heart.

I fight every god of death you’ve ever dreamed of, dance with the reaper as he tells me to make my choice.
I’m crashing against waves while dying of hydration- and I’ll never understand why.
The curiosity keeps me floating, but the exhaustion will make me drown.

I tell myself that a few mores lines carved into my legs will not matter.
A few on my wrists would do fine, but those I would have to hide.
But that the pills on my dresser are there just in case I’m done being tired.

I beat myself into the ground because I already feel dead.
I tend to keep alone because company will not fix these wounds.
What’s done is done, and I have to continue bottling up each tear for my sick mind to savor.

In all of this, I think of him. I think of my older sister and her children.
I think of my broken father and my mother -whose spirit has been sucked from her and replaced with darkness and a marble tombstone.
I think of the me that I would kill, and the me who could have grown.

And I just feel so fucking sorry that I spend my nights like this.
It is not that I don’t love them and have no hope for me, it is not that I am selfish.
It’s that their lives would be better off untouched by a blue boy with sand on his tongue who is completely and utterly worthless.


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