Poisoned

I wrote this poem a couple of years ago when I was feeling really down.

Depression had me firmly in its clutches.

Anything people said or did would be misinterpreted.

Because that’s what depression does—it completely alters how we see everything around us.

And it’s not just other people’s words that hurt, it’s our internal monologues that can do just as much damage.

Your poison seeps into my skin through wounds so deep they won't heal, My bloodied body can't push you away for your words have taken all its strength.

This poem was originally published on The Writer’s Cookbook.

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