Depressed Poetry:

I stumbled across an old poem I wrote while deeply depressed. It isn’t as terrible as I remember it being, so I’m posting it here for posterity. Enjoy!

My mask is a smile
made of paper maché.
It flecks and it peels
as they all go away.

I take off my mask
but what do I see?
A deep dark hole
where my face should be.

I climb through the hole
to see what’s inside.
I never return.
Alone with my pride.

I swallow the pills,
doctor prescribed.
Held aloft by strings
still dieing inside.


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