Shadow Poetry

depression is

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

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