This is a poem, based on the hurts of depression. Kindly read, and share to all needs to know about it.
I was under the roof, home alone, thinking of a person I was becoming.
It was mind blowing, knowing how a mess I had turned to be.
I don’t know if am jealous, or if am strong to defend what I think favors me.
But, What I know is; am no longer the guy I used to be.
Would you mind if I jump into your thoughts for a while?
Would you care being Base if am Acid?
Would you do?
They have tickled my pain, that was hidden by the busy me. They have colored my darkness with noises, I can’t hear what to see.
They have carried the Egypt’s flower in my suitcase, it smells blood of mine.
Hey, Hold My Hand! Am depressing.
I have travelled miles in thoughts, nowhere seems to fit me.
I have gone afar in cries; rivers are flowing but farm animals would die of thirsty than drinking.
Nobody cares. I even don’t care.
I don’t care if you don’t understand this, I don’t care when I don’t understand it too.
What I care is; am lost and at least am sure about that!
I am not even thinking of the solution; does it exist?
Have you noticed the so much “I AMs” and “THEYs” from the beginning of my writing?
What do you think? Ain’t I too selfish and professionally a suer?
Trust me, better you make yourself some food you never did, than considering me.
I am the words written on a paper, that a friend came and tear it down. I CAN’T BE REFORMED.
I am wise to the mind of a pessimistic dumb guy, who can consider him? I CAN’T BE TRUSTED.
I am lost to a lost crowd, who can show me the way? I CAN’T BE FOUND.
My blood has turned green, they find hope and joy from my persecutions.
I wonder if this world knows somebody like me do exist!
Am sure it doesn’t; am I that important?
I am at this lower level of hostility; thinking of killing everybody, then kill myself.
The highest level is what am trying to figure out. If am thinking of it, then it exists.
If you would ask me what happiness is, I would tell you this;
“Happiness is knowing that, every night is a chance to die.
Happiness is knowing that, I can stab myself to death.
Happiness is knowing that, death means life.
Happiness is becoming all I know.”
But, if you would ask me what sadness is, I would tell you this;
“Sadness is where I sold my soul and shopped my happiness.
Sadness is the only friend I have remained with, a friend whose joy is mine.
Sadness is the safe place am in now, a home where my heart found a comfortable bed to lay itself.
Sadness is all of me.”
Are you still interested with me?
This is boring, isn’t thrice to you?
If you are thinking yourself a help giver, there are a lot of people out there, dressed good, eats good, and owns stuff but, they need you.
They are battling with self-anger and the hard-to-reach one to one emotional connections.
They are surrounded by friends and lovers but, they feel to be all alone.
They don’t need your cash; they need your attention.
If you can offer them some time, that will be the best gift they would ever dream for.
Please, be there for them.
But, if you are the one who is depressed! Kindly consult the professional counselors as soon as possible.
You may have all reasons to give up your life but, life doesn’t offer that opportunity, death does.
So, as long as you are breathing; You have the highest chance to enjoy life than being depressed.
The awful feelings you right now have are some extremities you have fallen in.
You can be that good person again.
Life waits for you; life depends on you to exist.
If you can’t get back for yourself, do it for those who loves you.
Do it for this world that, highly depends on you.
Share this poem to the friends, family and all who needs to know about this.