When you broke me, my million million pieces scattered all over with the wind. And at first it felt like I would never ever be anything but broken.
But then; even the smallest, mangled parts of me sprung roots and bloomed.
And I realized they were not breaking pains, but growing pains.
And they were the first step toward that elusive place they call happiness.
Depression is
Depression is
Depression is an entire day spent
Laying in bed
Staring at the same spot on the wall
Depression is exhaustion buried deep in your bones
But never being able to sleep
Depression is giving up everything you love
Because you feel like you don’t deserve happiness
It’s months spent emotionless
It’s days spent weeping over the drop that made the dam burst
It’s pushing away friends because you don’t want them to worry
It’s not being yourself and then not remembering what yourself is without it
Blood poisoning
You made me hate the blood that rushes through my veins, simply because it is the same as that which runs through yours.
And the very thought of sharing anything with you was enough to make me drag my nails through my veins, scraping out every last drop of you, the way you would scrape rotted flesh from a festering wound.
rising shadows
‘Careful, child.’
The old woman crooned from her corner in the tavern.
She had caught the girl staring out at the forest, as if looking at it long enough would make it divulge its secrets to her.
The crone’s chair creaked beneath her as she leaned forward with whispers on her tongue.
‘Monsters roam those woods and shadows hide in its darkness. Not even the soldiers dare to cross the lands through them.’
The girl smiled her broken smile, wondering if the woman could see the bloodstains on her teeth, or if she was simply imagining the taste of iron the action had left on her tongue.
‘I have lived, breathed and bled war.’
She said in a voice that would send chills down Death’s spine.
‘I have served beasts disguised as men and I have been hurt by their hand.’
She once again looked out at the forest, almost longingly this time.
‘If what you speak of is truth, then I would much rather be in those woods where I can recognize a monster for what it is than live in the war camps and mistake sinner for savior.’
The woman crossed her chest, realizing that she may have been ancient enough to remember the world before it was torn apart; but this girl was far older. Not in body, but in soul. And she kept crossing her chest, over and over and over, praying to whichever God would listen.
She crossed and crossed and crossed for the salvation of this girl who had been touched by War and Death, and had been left with a blackened soul.
But the girl was not grateful for it.
Seeing the woman pray made rage burn through her veins at the naivety of it.
‘Save your breath.’ She spat.
‘The Gods won’t listen to your prayers. They have tasted the blood of men and now they cannot go without it.’
The woman was frozen, staring wide-eyed at this young girl who had abandoned her faith. For what she spoke of, was heresy.
‘The Gods have tasted blood and so it is only blood they hear. If you want them to hear your prayers; be prepared to spill it.’
The woman stared in horror at the heretic girl as she lifted her sleeves and crimson skin stared back at her. For it was not the girl’s blood that stained it.
It was the blood of innocents that would not wash away.
‘The Gods have heard me.’ The heretic continued.
‘The Gods have heard me and they know that I am coming.’
And those were the last words she spoke before she disappeared between the trees and left the woman crossing and crossing and crossing behind her until her heart had no blood left to pump, and yet another nameless face stained the skin beneath the heretic’s sleeves.