Tag Archives: depression verse

In Love with My Depression

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Dear friend and venerable nemesis. Loathsome darling and arch enemy. Loyal savior and ruthless killer—a poem about being in love with the depression that’s destroying me.

Oh, where are you when I need you the most?

My dear friend, my venerable nemesis

You are wrapped in the dark grey shadows,

as silent as the chasms within the deep crevasses

I need to hear your poisonous whispers,

I need to go down, feeling your cold caresses

Oh, where are you when I desire you the most?

My archenemy, my loathsome darling

You are standing at guard within my heart,

a coiled dragon — ferocious and snarling

I need to be blasted by your icy fire,

I need to be ashes, a charred grey starling

Oh, where are you when I abandon the world?

My promised comrade, my sworn foe

You walk along with me on the path of life,

a dead man walking and his faded shadow

I need to walk till exhaustion kills me,

I need to feel the pain — the sting of a black widow

Oh, where are you when I yearn for company?

My loyal savior, my ruthless killer

You, freezing my tired and broken soul,

you, bringing an end to the boring thriller

I need you to kill me, for I want to sleep,

I need to be entombed within a granite pillar

The Stranger in the Mirror (Previously, Man in the Mirror)

Posted in Poetry English by
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He’s convinced ‘his coming was an error’ that needs correcting without delay—this is what severe depression sounds like when it talks to itself in the mirror.

A harrowing poem structured as instructions to confront the stranger in your own reflection—a man consumed by self-hatred, failed dreams, and the conviction that his departure would strengthen those he leaves behind.

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Go look at him, look at his pale face in the mirror,

how loathsome it is and yet so strangely dear

Look at him for long, and observe very closely,

and find on it quietly lurking, a dark, crippling fear

The fear of failed dreams and the fear of total loss,

of a life utterly failed, and a death by greed’s spear

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Go talk to him, talk to his dark face in the mirror,

with all of its passive and violent aggression

Talk to him for long, and listen with patience,

you will hear his final words, his ugly confession

From where did he come, and where will he go,

he will speak of darkness, and his cold depression

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You hate him with a vengeance, the man in the mirror,

you look at him with vile pity, you feel utter disgust

You are sickened by what he has now become,

no principles, no morality, and a lack of total trust

You are offended by the choices that he has often made,

there is just reigning chaos, the scorching wind, and dust

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You are so disappointed in him, the man in the mirror,

you do not hope for miracles; there will be no redemption

You witness his devastation, his fate is not to blame,

he is dissolving fast, an intentional self-destruction

He is being blown away by the cruel gusts of time,

spite, self-loathing, dejection, and also some rejection

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Go question him, go ask the man in the mirror,

Does he really have to leave? There is no other way?

And he will tell you no, staying is no longer an option,

the sky is overcast, the clouds all heavy and grey

He has to leave now; his coming was an error,

without any hesitation, without the slightest delay

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Go tell him now, go tell the man in the mirror,

there are those, who need him to stay a little longer

And he will tell you no, he has to say his farewell,

his absence will be hurtful, but it will make them stronger

He has always lived like this, braving all his pains,

and they will live so too, no fear, they won’t conquer

Questions that I often Ask Myself

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Who am I? What am I? What is my existence? Where am I heading? What will become of me?—Five questions, no answers, only increasingly dark possibilities.

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Who am I,

when I laugh so loud, and also when I cry?

Am I a terrible figment of God’s imagination,

or perhaps, as I often tell myself, a mirthful lie?

Perhaps, I am what was meant to be discarded,

or maybe, to be ignored carelessly, or meant to die

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What am I,

when I beg and beseech, looking up to the sky?

Am I a chaotic and messy pile of junk and trash,

or perhaps a weird collection of impossible thoughts?

Perhaps, I am a useless and wasteful hand of tarot,

a card with no picture or symbol, only stains and dots

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What is my existence,

when I examine my state from some distance?

Is this just a never-ending nightmare, 

or perhaps just sand slipping through my grasp?

Perhaps, there is really nothing that I truly have,

and maybe the rope of hope is just a venomous asp

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Where am I heading,

with a resolve all strong, and my wings all spreading?

Am I diving headfirst into an unfathomable abyss,

or perhaps heading towards doom, with a loud roar?

Perhaps, I am driving down the road to hell,

while the shadow of doubt grows even more

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What will become of me,

will I ever know for sure, and will I ever see?

Will I always be searching for what I dream of,

or is the door just locked forever, and there is no key?

Perhaps, what I touch, will one day become gold,

but by then, all the light will be lost to the dark sea