Written by Poetry, Writing

Depression Debris

Women in Water

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WARNING: Suicidal Ideation.

Why do I think of suicide when I see beautiful places? The salt of the ocean as I dive in the dark. Rocks tied to Ophelia. But I’m more like Hamlet. I can’t make up my mind.

It’s the air I want to breathe last. I don’t want to keep going. Maybe Hamlet knew he was trapped too. Not loved enough to stay, too loved to go.

I hope I die young…

(only sometimes/ just kidding/I’m okay/ don’t worry/ don’t worry/ leave me in peace).


Guess I’ll get drunk while I wait it out.




Photo by averie woodard on Unsplash