poetry

Catastrophe

You say you’re depressed
When really you’re stressed
Because I’m not sure you know
What it’s like down below
Wandering your mind in the darkness, alone
With creatures and cobwebs hidden in the unknown

You say you have anxiety and by that you mean nerves
Because you don’t spend your life trying to preserve
Yourself from monsters and ghouls in the dark
Which don’t exist but still leave their mark
Fingerprints burned into soft white snow
Rehearsing frantically a simple hello
You say to me that you have OCD
And inside I wonder, how can that be
Because you don’t spend days at a time
Completing rituals to prevent the crime
Of failing your life and killing your friends
As that’s what will happen when this shit ends
You say you’re bipolar when you make decisions
But it’s not your mind that threatens collision
Unable to balance mood without medication
Curbing the depression alongside the elation
There is no hope then colours are flying
I am invincible and then I am dying
Yesterday you told me that you had a panic attack
But when I asked about it, you seemed so relaxed
You weren’t consumed by your impending death
And your body wasn’t still fragile, fighting for breath
Your skin wasn’t slipping off of your bones
In fact, you were just browsing Facebook on your phone
I tell you I’m dying but you say I’m not
In a world of catastrophising I think you forgot
That you just devalued a list of conditions
Without once realising what it’s like in this prison
My cry was a real one and one for help
But you were too busy instagramming yourself
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