"Depression, Fiction and the 'Real World'"

If it wasn’t for my characters,

I would have given up long ago.

I can’t survive in your so-called “real world”.

Mine is the only one I know.

I don’t exist in “real life”.

I’m nobody there – no-one at all. 

My characters live inside my mind,

and trust me with their lives – their secrets. 

I know them.

I know almost no-one at all,

in so-called “real life”.

People only want to judge. 

I don’t belong here at all. 

Depression is closing in on me,

and most days, I can’t even write a thing -

but I won’t give up,

because I can’t.

Yet, I wish I could. 

If all there was here was “real life”,

I know I would give up

right now. 

"Haunted Doll"

You view me as inanimate.

Yet, look into my eyes.

Touch my skin – cracked porcelain.

Can’t you see through my disguise?

First, I’ll play with your possessions.

Then, I’ll move on to your mind. 

I’ll haunt you, even in your dreams.

I am sweetness redefined. 

I only crave attention.

Let me out of my glass case -

if you dare – don’t think I’ll murder

you, in your sleep.  With my pretty face,

what’s not to trust, anyway?

I only want to play. 

"Alone in Reality"

When the pain, in my body and mind,

is excruciating;

when multiple fears

overwhelm me,

and the world is

rapidly closing in –

that’s when I thought

the people

who told me they cared

would be there.

In my time of need.   

Yet, most disappear. 

They run from my fear,

won’t stay through my tears. 

What does that mean?  Signify?

That none of them ever cared?

I am alone and abandoned:

That is my

reality.

"They Never See"

I think it’s sad, what they can never see.

Silence - its own screaming testimony –

shows ultimately, what they think of me. 

I care until there’s nothing left,

and then –

maybe some drama; or, perhaps –

just to drift

slowly

apart.

Things turn out as they do: That’s destiny. 

I still think it’s sad

that they never can see,

or maybe just don’t care

that they are losing me. 

"IRL"

Do I exist at all?

All seems unreal - surreal.

Of course, no-one can ever know

exactly how another feels.

Is anyone or anything

tangible - for real?

Am I real?

Do I exist at all?

"Becomes Another Day"

Hold on, just one more moment,

which becomes another day.

The subtle shades of sadness sing

deceptively sweet melodies. Hope fades,

like a repeating chorus line.

Still, we hold on

just one more moment,

which becomes

another day.

"Barriers"

these barriers, you'll never touch or see

they're real - they are a part of me

and the end results - visible enough

to make a cruel world reject me