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Weary

Mirrors make the best walls.

This rot will spread:

My bones will lie bleached before you

and your sorrow will pay my debt.

.
This is why I’m gone:

To owe nothing to anyone.

I am weary,

let me rest. 

.
It’s you or me, 

and I love you

and hate myself,

so the choice is clear.

I am weary, 

let me rest. 

.
Amputate the gangrene,

cut away the rot.

I am helpless in the dark. 

All I owe is more than all I am – 

your sorrow will pay my debts,

and I thank you for the love that pays

and keeps on paying. 

………………………………………………..

This is dated 3/30/2015. That was a tough year particularly in terms of the depth and severity of my depression. It was squeezing the life out of me and this poem barely even touched the surface, but it helped a little to write it. Please know that if you’re facing this, you’re not alone, and you’re worth every breath and cell and ounce of soul that makes up your being. And stay with us. 

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