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. 


Isopropyl, do thy will.

I don’t want to hear or feel anymore.

I can’t do this.

It hurts to much.

No hope.

Just waiting to tie that rope.

I’m sick and that’s making me think, that all this is truly my fault.

My friends can’t help that they are happy and beautiful. I no longer take part in my fake charade.

Paper faces and false words are no longer my comfort.

Isopropyl, take 8oz, 2 table spoons, down the hatchet.

This was never yours to begin with. 

You were never supposed to be here.

I did my duty to provide comfort to a mother and father in a foreign land, so they would be accepted and have a child born on new soil.

I can go now.

Please let me go.

If it’s not poison, a rope or a hard fall, then what?

If I have a right to live , don’t I have a right to die? 

Isopropyl, 8oz, 2 table spoons…

Do your worst and let me go.

What They Don’t See

My depression is a beast. And it’s winning.

It’s what they don’t see.

The tears.

The gasping breaths.

The desire of wanting to die.

Because that’s what I want.

I want to die.

I don’t have anything to my name.

I don’t have anyone who depends on me.

I’m not even sure I have friends.

Family is non existent.

I’m alone.

No one hears me or really sees me.

I have nothing to live for.

I’m completely at the bottom.

I’m staring at the barrel and I’m ready for the lights to go out. 

I’m not really here.

I never mattered to myself or to anyone else.

It won’t be a shame or a waste.

I never belonged here. 

My days are numbered. 

And I’m very ok with that.

There’s no one to hold my hand or wipe away my tears. 

I don’t have a shoulder to lean on.

All I have is somewhere to lay my head and hopefully, fade away.

People don’t care to see you cry in the dark, drowning in your despair.

It’s what they don’t see that scares them.

So, they close their eyes and pretend it’s not there.

I wish I could do that too.

Sadly, I can’t.

It’s what they don’t see, that will be the end of me.