Maybe picking up yourself is the hardest

When you have taken an oath 

To twist the knife to your wounds 

And decided to bleed. 

How do you take a step back

Pull the knife  out of you

Free yourself from the sweet pain of disaster 

That you’ve become to accustomed to

Perform the surgery. 

Pull the knife out

Amputate the gangrene

Stitch yourself up

And stand straight

Without the pain. 


How would it feel to fly

After crawling for ages

How would it feel to try

Once again what you’ve tried

And failed. 

Maybe while at it

I’ll push the knife deeper and deeper. 

Hurt the ones around me

And sicken the hell out of them

Because who wants a person who wants to die

Whose basic instinct runs upstream 

The fishes that dream

What a beauty will you be

If you perform the fucking surgery



Move your battle away from the time

When you felt like your trust was taken piece by piece and shot down until it was beyond repair. 

Move your battle away from the feeling 

When your heart skipped a beat,  not in love but surrounded by fear and insecurity. 

Move your battle away from the life

Where you lived in a paranoia, an illusion that they were out to get you and you had to escape. 

Move your battle away from the hell

That you gave yourself for falling weak in your knees and giving yourself away for too little. 

Move your battle away from the death

Of happiness inside your body where every cell within you cried and hoped it would cease to exist. 

Move your battle away from the battles that need to be left alone.  The battles you don’t have to fight.  The battles you’re not meant to deal with.  

Your battle is life.  It is living.  Now.  Not then when things were happier or worse.  Now.  

Right fucking  now. 


Fight the battle to live.  To feel.  To believe.  To recover.  

To love. 

Yourself first.  

Love me

Like a glass shard pierced through you

And pained the unmovable hand 

Bleeding right through the bandages 

And you couldn’t think of anything else

The agony shot in your nerves

And the apathy of the breeze abound

The gaping flesh wound disappearing 

And only the feeling left behind.

Love me.  Love me.  Love me. Love me. 

And my friend said.. 

​Seems like everybody is progressing, and I’m stuck on the same page.

And that’s how I was feeling.  Like I was circling down the same damn sewer in the same bad water every day. There was no change.  Nothing to look forward to.  Nothing to look back upon.  There was a feeling of sameness to everything.  I say was because  I got better.  It was a disease and I didn’t know it at that time but eventually, I did.  What I thought was a horrible existence meant to punish me for some cosmical sin,  was in fact a manifestation of depression in its rawest form. The similarity between day and night, between one person and another and between moments of apparent sadness and happiness.  Everything is the same coloured with the same hues of the bad sewer water. There is a feeling of helplessness that arises out of this sameness.  The pungent odour of one’s own life doesn’t  seem recognisable to us anymore.  That is why helplessness.  We feel things but we  don’t know why we’re so unfeeling and generally sad.  This feeling is best described as being stuck on the same page for as long as possible.

It is a tremendous feeling of great proportions which makes you feel hollow. Unable to feel.  Unable to know.   There is a void of what could have been and what is.  This void seems forever unfilled and ever growing. It is when I was at this stage that I realised something was wrong. 

And my friend recognised that feeling so correctly.  She felt it.  We all feel it.  Some times.  Some others feel it all the time most of the time and this is to tell you that that feeling is walking on thin ice.  It is a dangerous indicator of things far worse.  It’s just the tip of an iceberg.  A tip so deep you’ll  waste ages in a  circling drain trying to fathom some sense out of the vague vast feeling this is.. 

In the end, my friend said something which sparked off a lot of emotion in me.  I am feeling now.  Every word anyone says is a new story to me.  Every day a different page.  I never want to go back to circling the drain ever again. Not ever.