there is no glory in depression
but disheveled, unkempt hygiene,
insomnia nights, “sleeping” days,
eat too much, forget to eat, eat a little,

wear the same pjs, underwear and hoodie for
weeks then change and still the stench is brewing
hair greasy, scalp flaky with build-up turned
dandruff sticks to strands of hair which
falls out in clumps but still blessed to not
yet be cursed with bald spots

zone-out zombie to comfort tunes while
social media scroll or same show
you’ve already binged 5 times
perhaps some YouTube or watch a favourite
Twitch streamer, attempt to be social in chat

only leave the house if necessary,
groceries, appointments maybe hangout
with a good friend if you’re lucky.

shower-depends on the stench and the
spoons- deodorant and body spray a must
if not ready to bathe- “you’d feel better
if you showered”

-but really you feel gross after escaping the
hot scalding mist you just wanted to stay in all
day.

a mix of depression, anxiety and self-diagnosed
neurodivergence keeps you in this fucked up
survival mode – years of trauma,
everything seems to be a trauma response
these days.

getting lost in your current repeat song
of the week or month is a coping/stim
while playing with your favourite fidget
toy and simultaneously doing the social
media scroll because it’s that screen
addiction – not nicknamed “Crackbook”
for nothing

the food addict in you manages a tiny
balance in salt to sweet to caffeine
ratio-only real health victory is
how much water increased thanks to
your favourite Kool-Aid squirt flavour
in bottled water. whatever helps

the odd suicidal blip slips by your
neuroradar- demons tee heeing
but the only abuse at current is
your fucked up routine which keeps
you in survival mode- your demons
are pleased

you are thankful for therapy even if once a
month and a bestie 2 hrs away chat
everyday and your close friend who is
burning out too- you feel guilty for receiving
anything from them- because they’re doing
too much for others and self-care – “what’s that?”

you do what you can in return but still
feel guilt pangs- that demon’s ego on
high

you are grateful to the online communities
you’ve been accepted into- any support
helps- and many are like you, reminder
YOU ARE NOT ALONE

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

Liebe ist für alle da

Rammstein said it best, everyone deserves
love

I love you stranger if you’re like me,
feeling alone, unloved, unwanted, abused,
scared for future, trying your best to
survive- this demon (yes demon) is pushing
you towards the light drags you upwards

we’ve all seem to have lost someone to
their mental health struggle

we miss them dearly, but forget
we would be missed too

we need to care for each other NOW,
not remember how amazing they WERE

battle never over, let’s press on
“Until My Throat Bleeds”

“Until My Throat Bleeds”

heed the battle cry, march forward with
strength, even if it’s borrowed

pause before the blade pierces skin,
rope tightens, bullets… pills…

we need to be here and now, not
for anyone but ourselves

own your darkness, whip your demons
there is no glory in depression,
but there is a light in healing if you keep
reaching for it- arm stretched out

there will be a hand to grasp yours
whether you can see it – or not-
you will feel it

no suffering is worse than another
we’re here together

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

YOU ARE NOT ALONE

YOU
ARE
NOT
ALONE

This poem was inspired by a book, “Until My Throat Bleeds, Words Like Razors,” by Erk Aicrag, of Hocico and Rabia Sorda, it’s filled with poems, lyrics, life musings. Honing his darkness towards the light. I haven’t written in a while for myself. I started reading this book and felt an energy surge and the words hit the page like rapid fire. This is my truth, maybe it’s yours too. Thank you for sharing your insights Mr. Aicrag, can’t wait for the next book. I preordered mine, and was not disappointed, worth the wait.