I've heard metaphors for years
telling me that depression is a lover,
attentive, abusive, and always there for you,
even when you don't want them around.
I've never been good at relationships.
I'm either independent or a parasite,
but I never make it known if I need
any sustenance from their body.
I keep my distance. Kisses on cheeks,
soft hands that do not roam,
I am a gentleman. I will never
take advantage of what I know is not mine.
This is until I see the sadness drifting.
My shadow lover is growing old of
the corpse that refuses to rot,
and just as they're about to leave me,
I call them, with wounded wrists and
panic attacks in the bathroom.
They smile at me, take me into their arms
and keep me company at night when
I finally get time away from my friends.
I'll want to stay in bed with them for weeks,
but I make myself get up, even if it takes
all day for me to do it. I make sure to
shower after two days at the most,
find something healthy to eat,
even when I don't have the energy.
I take care of myself in the ways I'm supposed to,
but my lover reminds me of the ways
I destroy myself, even thought it feels like
a warm blanket around my shoulders as
blood trails down my arms.
I keep my hold on them until I start to wish
for my single days, back when I could
go out with my friends without having to leave
after an hour with anxiety in my veins.
I end up dreaming about the days where
my Tumblr was filled with nature,
and funny gifs, and pictures of baby animals,
and of flowers, and thigh highs, and girls
I want to know, and men that
I want to fuck, and women that
make me want to leave hickeys
on their inner thighs at midnight.
So, I don't delete my browser history.
I let them see the flowers on my blog.
I tell my lover that I miss enjoying the rain,
and that I think I should go back to
my apartment, where even if I want to die,
I never will, because suicides are too messy,
and I don't want my siblings to find me
the way the realtor found my father.
So, we'll go back from texting all day
to only telling each other, "goodnight."
And I'll feel slightly better than numb
for a few days, or weeks, or months.
It all depends on when I realize that
I miss them.