You ask me why i’m depressed, that i have everything and more. I laugh it off and tell you it’s probably my hormones acting up. I go back home at 9PM and i crumble. You meet me on a Monday night and ask if i’m okay, in my head; i tell you sadness is manifesting my soul. I’m losing passion in life. My words feel like sharp knives. Each day feels like a struggle. I’ve been sober for weeks and i hated every minute of it. I’m blank. I’m sorry i’ve been sleeping too much, and i’ve been handing over my emotions for months. I have died. Maybe i have been killed and i do not know it yet. My brain is trapped in an extended nightmare. I’m in a gigantic hole. Deep enough to drown my cries for help, but not enough to drown out the voices of the outside world. All i manage to utter is a small “great”. I sit still, wear my fancy coat of everything that looks O.K. as i observe, but never participate. I’m not a part of the real world. My heart has burst. I deny my own existence. I am in space, and my heart is weightless. I am far away. I am walking on starlight somewhere else.
I will not give up the flowers in my heart for stones just because the world is a hard place. The world is only hard because it needs more flower hearted people.
Nikita Gill
