Avaleirra
Is back. Probably.
- Reaction score
- 128
Did this for an English assignment. Tell me what you think 
.
.Depression
Once on her bed, dialling,
The same number over and over again.
Listening to the same answer,
“Hey, it’s Pete. I can’t get the phone right now but
I’ll call you back.
Promise”
She understood the meaning of loss
As she stared at her lovers blank face
In the obituaries.
It was at a party,
Where not one person was sober.
Not one person had a hand without a glass,
Even our designated driver.
It was early in the morning
When the strobe lights finally went off
And we stumbled over the corpses
To our tin can of a car.
The designated one said he was fine,
And that he had only had a couple of drinks.
Which happened to be vodka.
He also lied about the light being green.
It’s anybody’s story.
I decided to take a breather.
So I went to the library.
And I realized that this was the beginning of depression for me
Watching the bird-like librarians put the books away
Obsessing over them, as if they were children.
I watched their despair at the damaged ones.
The ones with coffee spills and doodles.
I watched at how they still held on to them
Even though they couldn’t be saved.
I returned home and turned on the tell
Clicking through the acting of reality television
And staring at the commercials blasting out their products to the world.
I stopped harassing my remote
At South Park.
Watching the fat boy weave streams of racist jokes
And intently stared the boy in the orange parka.
How he always managed to die in horrific accidents
Yet somehow return
Without noticing that anything happened at all.
I decided then, to end it,
For I knew that I would find no happiness in the living world.
I grabbed a small chair and some strong rope,
And made myself a poached rabbit.
Feet silently hanging in the air.
Once on her bed, dialling,
The same number over and over again.
Listening to the same answer,
“Hey, it’s Pete. I can’t get the phone right now but
I’ll call you back.
Promise”
She understood the meaning of loss
As she stared at her lovers blank face
In the obituaries.
It was at a party,
Where not one person was sober.
Not one person had a hand without a glass,
Even our designated driver.
It was early in the morning
When the strobe lights finally went off
And we stumbled over the corpses
To our tin can of a car.
The designated one said he was fine,
And that he had only had a couple of drinks.
Which happened to be vodka.
He also lied about the light being green.
It’s anybody’s story.
I decided to take a breather.
So I went to the library.
And I realized that this was the beginning of depression for me
Watching the bird-like librarians put the books away
Obsessing over them, as if they were children.
I watched their despair at the damaged ones.
The ones with coffee spills and doodles.
I watched at how they still held on to them
Even though they couldn’t be saved.
I returned home and turned on the tell
Clicking through the acting of reality television
And staring at the commercials blasting out their products to the world.
I stopped harassing my remote
At South Park.
Watching the fat boy weave streams of racist jokes
And intently stared the boy in the orange parka.
How he always managed to die in horrific accidents
Yet somehow return
Without noticing that anything happened at all.
I decided then, to end it,
For I knew that I would find no happiness in the living world.
I grabbed a small chair and some strong rope,
And made myself a poached rabbit.
Feet silently hanging in the air.
