Trigger Warning: The following poem contains content about depression and entails it in a distressing manner. Reader discretion is advised.

I keep telling myself,

Every second of every day,

Hold on a little bit,

Soon it will go away.


But as I look within,

A little more clearly, I see,

All these words of hope,

Seem to be empty.


I want to, and I try to, run away,

Towards the blinding lights,

But even after infinite tries,

I can’t seem to escape black and white.


They ask me,

If I’m okay and how I’m doing,

I smile, doubting my own sanity,

For that is something I’m losing.


I cry for help,

But the words seem to freeze,

Stuck in my throat, forever,

Like a sickening disease.


The slits in my hand,

Run deep, as if,

To provide the storms inside,

An easy exit.


They say it’s nothing,

Just a phase,

But it’s getting worse, maddening,

Spreading like an unending maze.


I wish for someone to hear,

Words I can’t form, and so, can’t tell,

Things I don’t know, but the one I know,

Is that I’m not just unwell.


The silence deafens me,

I wish to laugh, to live again,

So, like a barren, desolate land,

I pray for rain, but all in vain.


I wish to hold, not tears,

But a friendly hand,

They say they get it,

But no one really understands.


I wait for someone,

To let down a rope,

To drag me out of this abyss,

Someone to help me cope.


I look for friends,

But maybe in the wrong place,

For all of them feel like strangers,

Hidden behind a familiar face.


So, when I look,

At my side,

There’s no one. My only company,

Are the demons inside.


I try to fight this battle,

But it’s tough, all alone,

If only I had someone,

To walk me through this city unknown.


The roads seem to branch, intertwine,

With the end nowhere in sight,

The flame begins to flicker and fade,

Leaving the city dark and quiet.


And now I can’t take it,

Not for a second longer,

For the ruthless pain,

Is the only one getting stronger.


I long to love myself,

But love is a feeling,

And that’s something I’ve lost,

Along with hopes of healing.


I’m tired of trying to sweep,

So, I let the depression spread,

But my heart weeps for those,

Still fighting the demons inside their head.

If you find yourself relating to the above poem, please consider seeking professional help on an urgent basis. Please consider contacting any of the lines provided below if you are unable to find a specific professional. If you are from a different country, we recommend dialling your respective mental health and related helplines as soon as possible.

KIRAN Mental Health Helpline (India) – 1800-599-0019

MoHFW Psychosocial Helpline (India) –  08046110007 (with dedicated line for frontline workers on option 5)

– Oorvi Gupta, Amity International School, Mayur Vihar

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