Nothing left to fight for.

There’s no point in getting up
Just stay in bed, no one wants you anyway

but I try, I try to fight back.

It takes me hours to successfully swing my legs out of bed.

I set a goal to make coffee, and when I can’t focus
on books or games or anything, I let myself rest.

I try to think of options but it’s overwhelming.

I have no reason to live.

I stayed alive for six years,
promising my dog I’d never leave.

I fight my depression to help around the house.
My parents are grateful I do chores without asking.

I’m a good person, I’m a good person

but I couldn’t give my dog a peaceful end
(I should have seen the signs sooner).

I couldn’t keep my family from seeing me at my lowest.

I couldn’t let go of him, so now I swallow shame
at all the times I’ve called despite wanting to move on.

I’m bad, I’m bad, I’m bad

so I hide, I hide, I hide
(no one can see my sadness).
I pick, I pick, I pick
(attempting to self-soothe).
My scalp is red; I created these wounds.

I can’t remember when I last showered.
It’s an effort to change clothes, to brush my teeth.

The sun is too bright outside,
so I stay safe and isolated in the corner of my room.

I just want relief.

I don’t want to be me anymore