Ingested
(yet another poem about depression)
Emptiness overwhelms me. I feel hollow, like a bag of crisps all puffed up only to be revealed as nothing but a bag of air. Or when you bake a quiche and it deflates after setting. It still tastes alright but the bravado is gone. The essence of me has gone — deep into hiding, I suppose. How can you carry on putting one foot in front of the other when the concept of movement causes you physical pain? How can you carry on eating breakfast, lunch, dinner when the thought of food makes you want to be sick? My last question is: how can you carry on living taking each day as it comes when the idea of survival is not one that you possess?



Love this!
this is so beautiful and accurate dahhling!! good job!!!!🫂🫂🫂❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹❤️🩹👏👏✨👑👑👑