Depressed

When you're depressed
a day seems like a
thousand years.
The smallest insult or glare
can be the push over the
edge that leaves your eyes
blood shot.
You try to fit in
but you can't help but feel
like the worlds biggest outcast.
You try to think of somewhere to go,
where people will accept you,
the way you are.
The place that makes you happy.
The problem is you can't think of one.
It scares you.
It makes you cry.
It makes you cut.
Blood slowly running down your arm
dripping onto the floor.
You welcome the blood.
You welcome the pain.
The blood is proof of life,
at least now you can say you're alive.
The pain is feeling,
at least now you can say you feel something.
Your dreams are your wishes.
You wish for this hellish nightmare
called reality to end.
But not by the knife,
by a savior.
Though this is the furthest thing from a fairy tale.
And dreams and wishes
don't come true overnight.
So until then you're depressed,
and every day seems like
a thousand years.

by Wantxtoxrun
posted on 03/10/2008