Depression Poems

Popular Depression Poems
by Camron Thompson

The mind exits the head, the heart is being drained
Pulses bring me nearer to such a sweet release
Tears roll, cover, and dry upon that’s face
Looking in the glass that makes you myself
Choking on the lack of words I could never say
Every day brings me closer to my grande finale
No fireworks, no bangs, no tears to cry or fall
Regret fills the soul for any sign of life
Where is the angel that watches over thy’s breath
God will cry when he sees another life wasted


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Thank you
by Sharona anonymous

I am afraid
of the solar eclipse

I am afraid
that the day will come when your sunbeams won't touch me

I am cold
It gets colder every day

I know the day will come when I freeze to death


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by Sambhabi Mondal

Midnights were often scary for me.
Tired voices
Angry eyes
Suppressed screams and
Foul mouths.
Midnights were often scary for me.

Midnights were often discouraging for me.
The smell of expensive alcohol on your breath.
The stink of cheap humanity reeking from you.


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Suicide Note
by Robert Mestre

My eyes have cried
a million times,
now as dry
as dessert sand.

My heart has sank
with no strength to rise
from the well
that once held hope.


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what will it be "luck or shadow"
by Sharona anonymous

You have left me
I used you and didn't feed you
I told everyone that you were not there for me
while you were the one waiting for my attention

you warned me about him
for his claws and his eyes
I have neglected you and now
I am trapped in his shadow


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Recent Depression Poems
Marigold Heart
by baby panda

*trigger warning: mentions of death and violence.*

be careful of the thin ice
thin smiles
razor sharp edge

there’s always a heartbreak
numbing all the pain


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my new favourite number
by ebony King

I don’t like rhyming.
I shouldn't so much explain the why but how 26 letters can translate this torment I'm enduring.
Like the words anger, sadness,rage all equal to 16 letters that cling to my skin like mosquitoes but with every suck a piece of my soul rips out of this sorrowed body.
This is mediocre.
I'm going on and on about a feeling that everyone experiences but I'm special.
Like every morning I wake up with a pit in my stomach that I fill with calculated ideas of me getting better that i'll try for the next day that I'll know will be different
and every night I go to sleep with the same pit of distress that this is the reality I own.
But i am special
The next day I wake up and use the new profound idea from the night before.
but this time i'm rotting


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mother forbade feeding the poor thing
by Bogdan Dragos

there was a dog outside and it kept
barking for some reason
Ah yes, it was chained
and the chain was terribly short
and the poor animal was hungry

Mother wouldn’t bother feeding it
No, mother wanted it
to die
because it had been father’s dog,


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The Present
by Abe !

I'm lying here trying
to imagine
The might it would require
to be better
Bubbling under the surface
are my sins
The weight of all my crimes
combining with my lies
makes a fire


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by Hannah Sokoya

The first morning. Another morning. Again and again.

Routines of banality. The lynchpins of life. Essential, unimportant.

Waking, washing, brushing, feeding, gathering, earning.

Again and again.

How do they do it?
How do they breathe life into dud repeats?


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