Confessions from Depression: A Memoir

by ebstanton

Published August 3, 2016

16+ Mature Content

In In progress

Warning: This work has been rated 16+ for mature content.

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I am a leech,

Grim, grotesque, and gaunt,

Inaudibly haunting,

Sometimes creeping

Ever present.

I am an abyss,

Dark, demoniacal, and damned,

Discernibly heartless,

Mostly ravenous,

Always starved.

So I sit,

I wait,

I watch.

Licking my lips,

With visions of crimson wrists,

And broken bottles,

I began to crawl inside.

I am the unspeakable,

Not unthinkable, but highly unthought of.


A creature of the day,

A monster by the night,

With all my powers,

I can never cease.

Trapped like a fly,

I’ve grown disgusted with my skin,

And as hard as the merciless winter. 

“Get out.”

“Make it stop.”

“Leave me be!”

They plead.

Both with regret and cruelty I say,

“If I die, I take you with me.” 

Comments & reviews · 3
MightyScrublord wrote a review Review · Aug 4, 2016

This poem is incredible! I can really feel the power of your emotions through the poem and I love the rythmic patterns of your poem, occasionally there's a line or two that's too long but that melts away with the deep meaning of the poem. The metaphors are really effective in embroiling the reader in the poem. In conclusion this is a powerful poem that could use a little bit of tweaking. Keep the awesome poetry going!

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Siddharth
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Siddharth commented Comment · Aug 3, 2016

Review different poems and stories for points so you can post works...:-)

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Siddharth
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Siddharth wrote a review Review · Aug 3, 2016

Wonderful poem!!
The thing about this poem that I would like to see adjusted most would be its structure. You could split up some of your longer lines to make them shorter, perhaps at comma breaks or other natural pauses, which would make the poem seem a little a easier to read in, at least in my opinion. If you do this, then I would also suggest grouping the lines into stanzas. Put the lines that seem to go together, that sort of seem like just one thought, together into a stanza.

With love, Sid



When a good man is hurt, all who would be called good must suffer with him.
— Euripides