I write about depression and suicidal thoughts.


I sat pretty waiting for some good news.

The wait started to erode my heart and my soul began to rot. 

I wasn’t so pretty anymore.

I imagined an open field to yell through.

Feel the blades of grass brush by and scream with the wind to high heaven.

But no sound will come out, silence upon silence. 

I have a secret weapon still in my arsenal.

It’s getting ready to fire. This has nothing to do with me but you. All of you.

Angry and angry, I feel. 

The fire burns deep and the hatred runs hot. 

Am I still pretty to you?

I have the stomach to die. To take my life away, don’t take my hesitation to heart, I’m ready. 

I’m just not sure when. But hopefully soon.

The fight in me is uneasy and exhausted. 

My bones ache and muscles strain. 

My enemies live within and all I can think of is, am I what’s wrong in the world?

Who will miss me once I’m gone? 

All I know is that I’m ready to give up. Give me a reason to stay.

Or, just let me go. 

Author: The Beast

Writing my experience with depression.

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