Here I sit,
sewing a quilt.
A quilt with many squares.
It has multiple patterns everywhere,
just like me.
I have patterns,
on my wrists,
and arms,
and legs.
I can't help it anymore,
someone save me,
open the door
and let me out.
Open the cage
and set me free.
I can't help it anymore,
someone save me,
please.
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.
