Real

I read this poem and it wrapped around my neck
It choked the last breath out of me and left me on the floor

It pulled me by the heart and whispered in my ear
And it all became clear and real to me

There's a point in depression where you stop trying
Where not wanting to feel blood dripping across your skin takes over control

Your eyes cloud over with tears and smoke and
Your mouth sewn shut and licked by desire

It's when the urge for a razor to split your skin carries you
And brings you to a meadow

And in the meadow the flowers have died and you do not know how to escape.