OK, the song isn’t very good

MARY TIMONY IS A GODDESS ANYWAYS

 

 

Terrible yet almost unfelt

I am undergoing severe depression laced with passive malice against life and it feels like I won’t recover from it. Terrible but in a way good as it stands. With this background, my first (and perhaps last) piece of poetry came to pass and to the fore. It reads suicidal as I feel. Oh, I hate living in Korea very much.

 

Depression

 

Depression is a hole within
Behind the eyes,
Shaping me with dumb fingers

Ready to leak into the world in sad attire
The eyes wet,
It dies when it lives

Depression is pure and deep like a sea
I sink every moment with inaction
How far down I will never know until discontinuation

I am a word that carries a void
Unspoken yet written in the chasm

I am nothingness trapped in a skin,
A beauty maligned by the passion of people

I long for a form lazily
How long until I am the matter?

For the world to touch,
For I to feel

The wind blows softly,
I see myself scattered, cindered