depression is a liar
and a truth teller
buries heads in the sand
illuminates all the wrong
playing the villain
monsters slithering
in the shadows
making home in the hollows
paying rent in love letters
we want someone to know
but we don’t
can never tell
because
playing the hero
winning over the dragons
stepping into the flame
drinking it dry
sparing the hostages
the licking and the char
because we know what it means
to suffer inside a plastic box
nothing to soothe the ill
because we hurt
beneath bricks and mortar
dust and broken bones
we exist within
suffocation
and oxygen masks
writing these silly plot twists
with knives in our spines
emails to our graves
everyone else is a star
brilliant in crimsion hues
our screens are ebony
the colors all filtered out
we can see you
but we can’t feel your warmth
because we hurt enough
we don’t open mouths
because to add more
is to help the vile
add to the mass graves
of tears and open sutures
because we can’t hand you
this filth
your hands are so pretty
and we’re already so dirty
by Daphne Shadows
Daphne Shadows 