I’ve never had depression. But I imagine it would be like this:

When the mascara tears
Mix with the stale regret
As you sit in the bottom of the shower
Crying, “I hate you,”
To no one in particular
(Except yourself).

When the corners of your lips
Can feel the puppet strings, pulling
But no longer have the strength
To turn upward,
And your head hangs a little lower
On your shoulders.

When the names they called you
Echo the words you call yourself
And carve into your personality
Like the way they carved themselves
Into your mind
Like a poem, a promise.

When you no longer cry yourself to sleep
But cry upon wake,
When you can no longer hide in covers,
Because your dreams are so much sweeter
Than the reality you live
(If you can call this living).

When you find yourself
Begging a God
You’re certain you don’t believe in,
Or at least, pretty certain,
To make the pain stop;
Just make it stop.

When you lose yourself in songs
With no meaning,
In food with no taste,
In friends with no laughter,
In poems
That go round in circles in your head.

When you wonder
Why you were even born.

That’s when you know.

The stars that fall the farthest
Can also burn the brightest.

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