Words tell stories of meaning. Tell the terrible truths of definitions. The dictionary listing every word imagined by the human race that can have any meaning to your worth. Which is ultimately nothing.
Nobody exists on purpose. Nobody here is meant to change anyone. The words foretold on our gravestone is the start all and end all. We are rather here to be overwhelmed by our own indifference or our own self loathing. Is anyone here to be somebody great who will change the world.
It is said that it is ourselves that can make the choice but we are all puppets in a show of depression, we all look up to the celebrities who turn to drugs and drinks as they have nobody to look up to. We force society on to a pedestal. We cause each other's depression. You are the reason I am depressed. I am the reason you are depressed.
I. Somebody who you need not know. Whom you may know. Whom you may never know. Knowing is a matter of a fact and none of us are that. Our skin does not cease to produce words. We never stay the same. The cuts grow deep as the words gain meaning.
Maybe you wish to know.
Maybe you wish for understanding.
But I. Can. Not. Give you that validation. All I can give you is my heart so you can force me to gain meaning in my words.
I am Depression. Don't take it the wrong way. I am not saying this in a metaphorical sense. Not in a figurative sense. I am Depression. I am
Depression. I am the reason for the way you feel. I am the reason for giving your words meaning. I am the reason your crimson blood ink begins and carries on flowing.
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YOU ARE READING
Newspaper
General FictionFeeling like your whole world can be read like a book a newspaper. Written down in black and white with out a description. Just facts of how lonely, depressed and bitterly aware you are of yourself and how people perceive and read you. Just like a N...
