“The perfect death letter”
were the words on everyone's lips.
They had broke through the door,
and took down his lifeless frame.
They just saw his letter–
His last sonnet on earth.
As stars sometimes fail to twinkle their light,
Sometimes, we too lose track of the true us.
We may face the darkest parts of our nights,
and need like the stars, the moon, as compass.
My nights became starless with depression
Eight months ago, and today, I'm one dead,
I'd tried my best to stop the ignition,
But the keys had always been in your shed.
Worry no more over my peaceful state,
Worry instead over that withdrawn lad,
Over that girl whose smile never abates
Over those scars, cuts that don't seem to add.
These ones need you now as shields and helpers,
Make haste, depression is the cruel monster.
was a tale of a flower
whose bloom blighted
as a result of a disease–
A widespread disease,
which none seem to notice,
It's called: DEPRESSION.