Depressing Poetry

Throwback to an intense season of depression.
Written by Winter Burnett November 13, 2016

Here I walk.
Alone in the moonlight.
My shadow my only comfort.
My shadow a twisted ugly version of myself.
My shadow the evidence that I’m alone.
 This bench has so much room.
And I just need a shoulder to cry on.
Someone to bring along
On these suicidal night walks,
But that’s not how this works. 
The path I can walk alone.
I say that’s fine.
But I lie.
Some can see through that,
But I don’t think I can see the truth anymore.
So my life’s now a lie.
I make rhymes
And I sit and I cry. 
This poetry does not make any sense.
Like the rest of my emotions.
I was done with this,
But apparently not.
I’m still searching for love.
When I have enough. 
So many lines written,
And not one mention of God.
That’s because we don’t talk.
Apart from emotional engagement
I’ve given up on him.
I “know” he has not given up on me,
But I need to feel rejected now.
I need to feel forgotten
Because I need to match these emotions.
And I’ve decided this is how.
 I’m still searching for labels
Of these manic depressive moments.
I’m still pretending I caused this.
I’m still alone.
And I fear.
I’ll always be alone.
 I want these words to hurt.
To crush others’ hearts
Just as much as these emotions have hurt me.
I’d go on.
I could write depressing words for ages,
But it’s getting as cold as my heart out here.
And I’m still pretending to be alive.

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