My depression is overflowing again.
Each treadmill being squeezed from the pores of my body and collecting in a pool around my feet. Drowning them in an abyss of unhappiness, making me lose my footing.
Outside of my life at home, I miss the time when people couldn’t see me clearly. I miss the time when people saw only what I wanted them to see. I had become a perfect little liar, but now? I’m completely incapable of doing such a thing. People can see the unhappiness written all over my face, people know how hard it is for me to get out of bed and I hate it.
I hate it.
Why did I have to share those poems with them?
Nakedstreetkid out x
[Edit: supposed to be published in May]