There's a saying
"Survival of the fittest"
but in the journey of survival,
I forgot to live my life,
It's strange how scared I'm of ink
gushing into my veins,
words flowing into my tips of fingers
paranoid, unconventional thoughts
blocking my brain,
the light too harsh on my eyes,
Pupils dilated, frowning gaze of mine,
I don't like the warmth of light anymore,
So I cover myself in shags,
draw lines of solitude so that none
should ever try to break into it.
There was no medication to my disease,
my dislike towards light and love towards darkness,
Sometimes I feel with a heavy heart,
Sometimes I don't at all.
I'm sledging away from all kind of relationships.
Solitude is the only key to my broken wings.
I prefer being alone in a room with
rainbow playing at the ceiling of my room,
soft music echoing,
It's beautiful while I enjoy my solitude
Tell me if I'm fit to survive ?
Does depression look like this?