Depression

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: July 12, 2016

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Submitted: July 12, 2016

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Here sits a broken girl typing on her computer.

 

She doesn’t speak. Not because she has no one to talk to or because she is quiet.

 

She just doesn’t want to.

 

Here sits a girl who looks alive.

 

Her eyes always shine bright.

 

Her voice is loud and childish.

 

But there are days when she feels old.

 

Not “age-old’ but mentally old.

 

She has been in no war.

 

She has been in no fight.

 

She has not been a prisoner of vicious humans with malicious minds

 

She has not gone through what sufferers do.

 

But yet, she feels old as if she has lived a hundred years.

 

She is angry and tormented.

 

But she feels nothing.

 

And she knows.

 

She knows what she is.

 

She knows what she is capable of.

 

And she knows she will not regret or look back at her actions.

 

But she knows she can do wrong.

 

She knows she has done wrong.

 

In this state.

 

But because she feels dead, she does not care.

 

And she regrets nothing.

 

She hates them all.

 

She hates what they have done to her.

 

She hates how the minds of people change like the winds of time.

 

From hatred to love.

 

From anger to pride.

 

She hates herself for what she has done.

 

But she looks in the mirror empty.

 

Devoid of regret.

 

Until her humanity has awaken again, only then perhaps.

 

She will feel pain.

 

But for now

 

-Her feelings hold emptiness and nothing.

 

She feels nothing.

 

She feels like nothing.


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