I don't know where it came from or where it's going but this ache in my chest is swallowing me whole

gaping and smiling its scraggly-tooth smile and this hop-scotch heart isn't skipping for joy I'm falling with anticipation of contact with the iceberg ground take a breath pull me in let me push cause I'll never feel safe again whole again home again I'm drowning in the cavern beneath my breast I'm watching clouds roll by and planes blow past as I sink as you reach for my hand but the truth is I'm done trying to stand so ready to melt into nothing cause my whole world is mist by now and I've always missed how the rain used to beat when there was no sign of cover and I wonder what skin feels like to the raindrops and I wonder if tear drops have ever kissed your face in sympathy and I wonder how my hand feels to yours cause you always felt so warm

so warm I could melt into nothing

hold on hold on I'm not ready to fly yet I'm not ready to die yet I just want to know how your hair feels to the wind and how your fingers feel to the crumpled pages of novels long forgotten and letters never lost let's remember let's forget and then remember again the way our eyes met

it has never been easy to undo your corkscrew heart and it's never been easy to pry me apart but I've seen all of you and you have seen all of me what's left but to leave

why's it so hard to leave?

recovery,

to me,

is shouting into the void

and expecting an echo

to return.

i think

i am scared

of getting better.

i think

i have lost

my voice.

poetry is the way you straddle my thighs

and kiss me everywhere

beneath your blankets-

the way you move your mouth

as if you know my body

like the back of your hand

the way your lips glide

from my neck

to my chest

to my stomach

and back again

god,

i roll my head back

and close my eyes

and bite my lip

fuck,

reality is fading

all i feel is

the pressure of your hips

goddamn,

i'm flying

your hands are in my hair

fuck,

i feel beautiful

i feel you everywhere

i hold onto you

all through the dead of night

and finally get a good night's sleep-

being with you

is my paradise

i wish the days would keep

When you search "depression" on the Internet, you're given the WebMd and Webster's dictionary definitions.

You're given the usual symptoms: "fatigue and decreased energy, feelings of guilt, worthlessness, and/or helplessness, feelings of hopelessness and/or pessimism, and persistent sad, anxious, or 'empty' feelings," as well as a plethora of resources that can be useful when one is dealing with depression.

However, nowhere in these articles does it talk about what it's like inside the head of someone suffering from the disease. Why?

The details are too gory. Too many guts get spilled when people talk about depression, and no one's ever willing to clean up the mess that comes after such a heart-wrenching discussion. Ignorance is bliss, and many people deny the existence of depression, brushing it off, saying ridiculous phrases like, "it's just a bad day," "you're just being moody," and the real kicker- "depression isn't real."

...

Look for the complete article today on The Official Prose. Blog at: blog.theprose.com/blog.

Your text here

it said

so i wrote how somewhere in all the 
capital letters
i lost my voice, 
ran hoarse and screaming
through the shadowed city
but couldn’t remember a whole lot of it,
got caught in a hailstorm, 
got caught in my head
for too many minutes.

i remember the hood of your car,
my veins all done up with butterflies
and i did my makeup
even though you were 
leaving, spent money on 
a new bracelet
just to make you think, 
and i said a lot of things i only 
halfway meant, and i meant a lot 
of things i should have probably 
said, but that 
wouldn’t have stopped us
from

anything.

i bowed my head to pray
when i noticed my dress had ripped across
the center, the palest of ivory 
beating through all that grey,
and i said why god
i wanted black bones
i wanted iridescent skin,
the only thing you got right is the 
ruby red of my bleeding,
but it still won’t take me 
(there’s no place like) 
home.

it still won’t 
(there’s no place to)
take me.

god says he

has a plan for all of us.

i call bullshit on that motherfucker.

bullshit

because if fate

was the one who fucked up my head

and made melancholy my whore

that motherfucker should already be dead.

bullshit

because

who would spark a wildfire in their own backyard?

the answer lies in the burning of the good book:

no one owns the world.

there is no god.

there is no poetry.

this is not a sentence

and i would take the time to explain why,

but we're all dying.

nothing is what you think.

i would say

we are all made of stardust

but i don't want to make myself vomit.

if we are any part of the cosmos,

we are the detritus leftovers

that fall off of comets-

we are worthless.

i do believe

there's something bigger than all of us

but-

i'm well aware it might just be

the weight of the air we breathe.

i believe

that energy is conserved

that we are all made of matter

that gravity will be the death of me-

but there is no theory of everything.

i have been bleeding

for five years.

i walk around with

red hands

yet no one asks about my fingers.

i have carefully carried my guts

in mason jars,

only to spill them

on paper.

no one has helped me clean up

the mess i've made of myself.

so i will spell god with a lowercase g

and no one can stop me

because there is no saving grace.

i vow to shit on the bible.

I'm the sexy, intelligent, funny bitch who looks at fear and asks him to slow dance with me. I am a good time, no doubt. I know how to love in ways you've yet to dream about. I have my shit together, yet I'm falling apart. I am wildly insane, and serotonin starved. I am the polar opposite of "not enough," and that is a very big problem for many people.

I change for no one.

I am beautiful.

You tried.

Everything.

Be This.

Be That.

Be Yourself.

Be what they want.

Yet you can't seem to

Fit in.

You tried.

And

All it did was

Break you.