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Rated: E · Poetry · Dark · #2200334
Depression is an illness
Meant for the strongest willed people.
But unfortunately,
There must have been a glitch in the system.
Because somehow,
I am severely depressed,
But I am weak.
My bones threaten to break under the pressure.
This body I was placed in
Grows more disgusting by the day.
I can never feel comfortable.
It’s exhausting.
I am trying so hard
To dig myself
Out of this mess of a mindset.
It’s so hard.
I can never get a break from myself.
So many people depend on me
But I can NEVER deliver.
I am a toy on a shelf no one ever touches.
But if I disappeared one day,
And you happened to notice,
You might be sad.
So I guess I will sit on this dusty shelf
And rot inside myself.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2200334