There is something
in the mirror.
Its eyes
are wide
with fear.
Its face is pale
and exhaustion
will swallow
it whole.
Its arms,
long and thin, are full
of unpleasant memories
with knifes
and scissors.
Its legs,
chunky and long,
with scars
that tell stories
of a clumsy childhood.
There is something
in the mirror.
It stares back at me
with eyes
piercing and cold.
What has happened to you?
What has happened,
to the thing in the mirror?
YOU ARE READING
In The Mind of Depression
PoetryA "book" full of poems, from a depressed child. These poems are just sincere words and do not (and will not) always make sense, so I antecedently apologize.
