At Midnight, The Bell Rang

​I think what I feel, right now,
Is the quiet reverberation of words,
As they echo
Ricocheting off the walls.

The mug on the other side of the table,
Still empty.
But it stays there
To simulate the end of a conversation.

Words keep coming back.
They chase tunnels after tunnels
They are trains on the tip of my tongue
Like medicine before it is swallowed.

“Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.”
I know that now,
So come back to me.
The silence just keeps getting louder.

The other side of the table,
Still empty.
Like the other side of the bed,
To gather dust and lost words.

Trains keep following me.
The tunnel doesn’t ever end.
The words are not like medicine.
At least medicine takes away some pain.

I think what I feel, right now,
Is mercy from you,
As you walked away I noticed an echo of your vanishing ghost,
Ricocheting off the walls.

You flew away that night,
Like you said you would.
I just wish we had more time
I wish we had more

A Storm In My Head


Sometimes, depression is quiet. It is as silent and unmoving as a rock on the shore of a beach. Then the tide comes in. Then it is no longer depression, but anxiety.

But sometimes, depression is quiet. I liken it to living in a house full of water. See, when Anxiety is in the house causing chaos and breaking everything and hurting every houseguest, the flood is the last of my worries. But when anxiety is on vacation, the water is at my ankles, and it is raining in this flat. Depression sits in the corner, silent, unmoving, unfeeling.

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