Welcome to this generation,
Where people tend to smile,
Even when every relation,
Has been broken for a while.
Roses are red,violets are blue,
Sugars sweet,and so are you.
Welcome to this generation,Where the roses are wilted,and violets dead,
The sugar bowl’s empty,and the wrists are stained red.
Here’s a little story,
About this one girl,
Who fought with glory, But lost in a twirl.
She was fighting a battle,
That no one else could see.
She said,”It’s not against someone else,
But rather ,it’s the demons inside of me.”
She sat alone,
Alone at home,
Where her screams were silent,
But her dreams were violent.
She was tired of waking up,
With no one to hold,
She hated the feeling,
Of being alone in the cold.
There was no one to help her,
To make her meet her ends.
A pack of cigarettes, and alcohol,
Were her only friends.
The sky was dull,
And there was no silver lining.
In her little world,
Only for love was she pining.
Her heart is getting tired,
Of beating all the time.
It can’t compete,
With her restless mind.
So to numb the pain,
She draws lines down her hand,
Creating her own art,
With the dagger she kept in her night stand.
Everyday she’d say,”Silly little girl,
Don’t fool yourself,
They’ve seen your scars,
But just don’t want to help.”
You don’t know,
And you never will,
What ‘Are you okay’?
Would do to her urge to kill.
This went on for days,months and years,
And until she cried her very last tears.
She had decided that she had enough,
And the world around her was rough and tough.
She finally took a pen in hand,
And wrote a letter to her now broken band.
The letter was sealed,
And the mail had gone.
It was unreal,
But time can’t be turned,and actions undone.
Words she wrote, only they had read,
“I love you a lot, don’t cry when am dead.”
This was depression.
This was a war,
Where your heart and mind,
We’re neither against nor for,
They fought till the end,
But not for you,they fought to tear you.
Depression is a zombie,
You’re alive but your dead,
You don’t realize what’s happening,
You’re the walking dead.
Depression isn’t a beautiful sad girl,
With a boy kissing her scars.
It is wanting to take your own life,
Cutting open your own skin and burning it raw.
Depression is an art.
You paint a picture,
But with a twist,
You paint with a blade,
And the canvas is your wrist.
It is a never ending war!
-Sia Savla.
A Writers Block 