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Depression is my sickness
This sickness,
Has made my body, its home.
It darkens my brain,
Along with my heart.
Making me bleed
From all of my scars.
My art is my passion,
And my passion,
Is my safe house.
Though it seems like nothing, can help me now.
Every now, and again,
I forget who I am.
I feel tired, and alone.
Doesn’t matter how many friends.
I take my time.
Staying up late.
Thinking,
Then crying,
Then falling asleep.
Just when I find,
A flicker of light.
It seems to fade,
Before I can enjoy it.
Like my shadow, I will creep.
In the darkness,
Where evil reeks.
Maybe one day I will find happiness.
Good write!
I like this one but I feel like you could expand on it more!
IKR
I wanted to keep going. However i dont like when poems drag on for a long time. Because like everything, a good poem must come to an end
True. Maybe just a little bit
True. Maybe just a little bit more or a little bit less then? :p If there's no tank in the gas don't write with fumes though lol.