There is always something that can live in the crevices of death

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My words are cheap
and empty
just like me.

I say what comes
to the tip of the tongue
but underneath the letters
is a skeleton waiting
to discard this flesh.

I keep trying to commit to life, living
but I think I prefer death
without the dying
maybe I’m just afraid
of continuance

Like how the world turns no matter
the begging for it to stop
or how there is always something
that can live in the crevices of death

Because what the fuck does that mean to me?
It’s no comfort to me
that our energy continues to feed
the continuance of this monstrous world’s greed

~

Alternative ending


Because what the fuck does that mean to me
when the earth consumes you
while I’m still above the soil
shedding skin, dying and therefore still living?


Depression with a capital D

Matt2 Comments

Depression is hard to recover from because as much as you don’t choose to stay miserable, it feels like a choice between staying miserable or faking it.

And the faking in of itself takes its toll on you when inside you’re anything but okay.

Depression makes it, so you also don’t see the point in recovery because, after all, you think that life is pointless anyway.

That, along with trying to fake it, is the ultimate struggle.

If life is pointless, why bother recovering?

I come up against this all the time.

People say Depression lies to you.

I say it doesn’t.

Who is right?

Obviously, I think I’m right. Depression tells us the ultimate truth that life is pointless in the grand scheme of things.


I’m always fighting this struggle inside; I can’t remember a time when I didn’t.

I don’t beat myself up for the same things as others, generally speaking, not to say I never do, I have my moments, but they’re few and far between.
I don’t beat myself up over a lack of success. Success never mattered to me because life is too pointless for it to matter.

But what I do beat myself up time and again for is not going through with the ultimate expression of this pointlessness, for being a coward for not doing it.

Some nights it haunts me that I am too scared to do the one act that makes logical sense in the scheme of things.

What does that fear and anxiety mean? That underneath it all, I truly want to live? That’s what I’m always told. ‘It’s a sign you want to live.’ ‘It’s because you want the pain to be over, not your life.’

But what if it really is just a case of cowardice? I have been a coward much of my life, never mind being able to do the ultimate act to oneself.

Weird how cowardly a person can be while also feeling so utterly Depressed.

It’s a weird thing, too, because Depression can be an empty, numb feeling and too much pain. Either oscillating between feeling so numb you could be accused of managing to be ‘stoic’ only because you feel so little there is nothing to express, or you’re so distraught in life people tell you to calm down.

MattLeave a comment

turn away

don’t look at me

if there was ever a place

I should stay

it’s not with you

I’ll be gone before too soon

forget the person I was

before I became this monster

Fear

MattLeave a comment

It was with a cruel flickering
that a hunch lurched itself into my brain
it would stalk my footsteps
as I receded away from the monsoon
that made itself heard with a thud
as the lines wound tighter on my face
I ran on impulse
running through the empty streets
looking for a place to let this kinetic energy out
with a sigh

But it won’t be enough

The steam erased my face….

MattLeave a comment

The steam erased my face
and I thought this is the truest reflection
I’ve always wished to be faceless
so no one can demand expression
my lips don’t always crease right to the moment
and other people’s mouths pull tight around laughter
that the tightness is meant to hide
because it’s at my expense
embarrassment shades my cheeks
as I try to find the right shape
a formation of lines that are up or down
to draw emotion
as they lean with expectation
like they do when leading horses to do tricks
but I mustn’t get it right
or maybe it’s them, their faces that aren’t appropriate?
but no it must be mine because everyone agrees it’s me
my expression always drawn on by crayon
crooked and out of kilter to the moment

Death is human

Matt1 Comment

I am much too tired to keep up the chase

Embroiled in this decline

All my friends, they die

And that would be okay

If I had faith

That the cycles of life weren’t being erased But what the fuck is there left to say?

As I suckle from the teat Knowing no better way?

There was a time when even death teemed with life

It seems no coincidence

Our depiction of death

is the skeleton

Of a fellow homosapien