Depression

by Megann Lee   Aug 4, 2006


Can't find the energy to rise out of bed.
Can't get the strength to keep pushing along.
Blood shot eyes, and red stained hands.
Dampened sheets, smell of death.

Tissues, and band-aid wrappers litter the floor and night table.
Disposable blades and their wrappers lay freely around.
Her hands ache and are stained with her own drying blood.
Sheets splattered with the traces of her longing depression.

Bruises trace out her cheek bones, and darkened eyes show the real her.
Long shirts, even pants ad mist the summers heat.

Nothing seems to faze her, she walks on through the day with out a care in mind.
Feet dragging, hands grabbing, cleaning, sewing, mopping and washing.

When night comes, the horror is yet to repeat itself.
One punch to the jaw, two kicks to the gut, and three slaps across the face.
Just to make sure, she remembers who is in charge.
It stings, and burns, her mouth throbs.

He leaves her standing silently within the room.
The horror images yet again flashing into her head.
A single tear runs from her eye, trickling down her cheek.
Her eyes closes, her aching body falling down to the floor.

As she rolls her sleeves up, and begins to trace away the pain and sorrow he causes her.
Her hands tremble, her mouth throbbing even harder, the sour metallic blood running into her mouth.
The blade quickly sinking deep within her black and blue, cold fleshy arms.
It's the end, and she doesn't have a care in the world to stop from doing it.

As the blade falls deeper within her flesh, depression flowing freely from the gash.
She gives a final thrust to make sure, it'll never hurt again.
A soft smile cracks on her lips, as the blade rests in her veins.
Her depression, pain, and horror streaming out around her dieing body.

She lifts her head, just as he walks back in for the next round of fun for the night.
Only to discover his punching bag has gone, slipped into a ever lasting coma.
The pain he inflicted on it, seeping out from the gash, his feet stepping back.
Her blood following, as if it was a demon, hating upon him, for eternity.

©Megan- 2006

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Latest Comments

  • 17 years ago

    by Jacob

    Cliche or no cliche, I thought this was a excellent poem. You added real emotion to it, and it was very well written. Excellent job with description as well. 5/5 Keep up the great work

  • 17 years ago

    by goddess-glamourpuss

    Have to agree with previous comments that it does seem to plod a little but it fits with the theme so that is ok I guess.
    Yes the theme is a little cliche but you put real feeling into it and it was almost like watching a film play out.
    So despite the flaws I still give you five for expression and imagery.

  • 17 years ago

    by Truest Lies

    There were perhaps a few lines that I couldn't quite understand, but I still liked the imagery.. I mean, that it was very real, and, well, I like to say, it played an evil seduction in the mind.

    "Tissues, and band-aid wrappers litter the floor and night table."

    It was too tired to rhyme, as though it dragged its feet in its depression, but still said what it had to...
    This poem was different in many ways, even though the cutting was cliche there was a more realistic aspect of it..
    Oh well, I'm not sure what else to say.
    Good work.

    //T.L.//

  • 17 years ago

    by Just Lucy

    Ooooh that was a really deep poem, excellent writing 5/5 keep up the talent hunny and life will eventually get better

    xoxoxoxo Lucy