Posted in Depression, Poetry

Jane’s Slough of Despond

I am exhausted of being criticized,
their harshly intensified demeanor, makes me paralyzed.

It seems like a never ending process,

my jaded soul refuses to express.

Smashed to smithereens,

my soul is subjected to quarantine.

I lie prostrated on the bottom of the pool of life,

wondering about the afterlife.

Hell is considered to be lamentable,

for me it is frequent-able.

I conjecture death to be peaceful,

as it is an escape from the world – full of chaos.

I dine with the demons every night,

for I cannot flee from their organs of sight.

They have attacked my mind,

and so it remains confined.

My body remains the same,

just a little belly fat tends to accumulate.

They condemn me as I am different,

as my  distinctness, makes them sentient.

They have haunted me for years,

they have attacked me with the help of smears.

~Palak Arora



Mountains coached me to write.

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