I wrote this poem to show awareness of those suffering from mental health. This poem is about depression, and what it feels like when it gets out of hand.
Quarantine not only creates the perfect environment for depression to worsen but limits people’s health resources.
(Picture above – “A hug from mother nature” – Juliet McGauchie)
The Death of Myself
The wrath of melancholy blankets my raw body.
I feel nothing, for I have become bedridden.
I lay upon ice and swords of steel,
black ink seeping out my shallow wounds.
A hollow pulse,
a hushed cry,
a bleached breath.
I ask myself, what have I done?
A girl stands above me, watching as I sink deeper into the Lethe of hopelessness.
Her tears like the river of Hades, trickling down onto my chest.
She holds my hand and opens her mouth and whispers ever so softly,
what have you become?
She looks so disappointed, so upset with what I’ve done.
I have lost all sense of what it feels like to be happy.
All sense of what it is like to be normal.
All sense of myself.
Weak in the knees, she sits down beside me.
She kisses my forehead and stands up once again.
Her face a mirror, a reflection of my former self.
I watch as my ghost walks out of the room.
I have become frivolous.
I have become the person I deemed never to become.
The room becomes darker, and the cries become louder.
I yell as loud as I can but the darkness inside will not budge.
I am possessed with barren emotions.
It latches onto my veins.
Blood no longer flowing, my heart no longer beating.
I can feel the emptiness swallow me whole.
I seep into the floorboards,
my mind merely untouched.
I am now nothing but dust on your shelves.
The air thickens with silence, the emptiness deafens.
I have given up.
Lost all control,
all mortality,
all feelings.
I am now one with the rest,
those who are broken with pain that had never left, with cold hearts but warm tears.
Those who have failed at loving oneself, those who were afraid to seek help,
those who we think are okay.
The wrath of melancholy fills the room,
and all that remains is ice and swords of steel,
for the darkness had gotten ahold of another one who was too afraid to
ask for help.