Her Name is Depression
The uncomfortable embrace of my own mental illness
We're not holding hands,
I’m french-kissing her.
She walked in
and my machine gun thoughts
exploded,
bounced off,
her Clark Kent chest,
ricocheting around
in my skull.
We crash together,
our tongues locked
in a wet, awkward embrace
breath intermingling,
tasting like a lime-flavoured
White Claws,
slashing to bare
all of my bad decisions.
- V.B.B.
About the Creator
V. B. B
I'm a pessimistic amateur poet and writer that has had a few violent and dark things published. Also, I love to make lists of my favourite movies, t.v. shows, books, and music.
"Hear Me Out"
"Hear me out, what if we ran away together?" "Where do you want to go?" "Anywhere but here. We could move to a new city or to Canada, or we could disappear from society to live in the middle of the woods. Maybe a combination of two of those things would be good. What do you say?"
By Kay Husnick7 days ago in Fiction
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