My body feels dead, like it should
I am hanging between life and death
Balanced delicately on the gossamer thread of hope and despair
It has been 2, 3 or maybe 4 hours since
My ma rushed me to the hospital
White foam streaming out from my mouth
It was those tiny sleeping pills I took
“Why ? Why? Why?” My fogged brain heard my mother scream desperately
I wanted to reach out and pat her hands, “Not your fault, ma, never was…”
Depression is such a sly, slimy thing. It just insinuates itself into your life
And starts digging a pit right in the middle of you
And keeps pulling you down, deeper and deeper; no way out…
I want to sleep, blissful and restful
But my mother and the nurse are sitting beside me
Mt poor mother is tired and wrecked, begging for sleep
To turn in to oblivion, to forget me, her woes, at least for a few blessed minutes
But the mother in her will fight; her sleep, even if it means herself