There is a trend these days,
in which people on the internet
have the propensity to
exalt the insane –
and demand that there is
beauty in the suffering
of others –
Humans behind their feeble screens,
hitting reblog on posts that
display a sadgirl™ in
black and white,
bleeding the misery right out
of her waifish arms,
lips upturned in a pitiful half-smile.
Others praising the idea of psychosis,
as if the devastation of
losing one’s mind
is glamourous–
an experience that heightens the imagination
and boosts intelligence.
But depression isn’t
a beautiful girl,
silently sobbing on her
windowsill whilst
scribbling a sad story;
praised for her creativity and
coddled for her synthetic sadness.
Depression is
not showering for weeks
on end because the
physical act of standing up
is too much to bear
and being written off as
a lazy failure that should
stop whining and
just get over it.
And that same beautiful girl,
with her pitiful half-smile?
She should feel lucky
that her only experience with
self-harm is
her "aesthetically pleasing" tumblr posts -
the perfect accompaniment to
some pathetically pedantic quote -
In reality it is
dulling a dozen blades
in a single session –
because the only way
you can feel anything
is to carve into your pitiful
body and better to have the
physical distraction
than to be lost in the mental anguish.
So to everyone that feels
the need to consolidate my insanity
by telling me
"Oh, so that's why you write such beautiful poetry!"
Please, just fucking stop.
There is no beauty in madness,
only pain -
if your head was full of
voices that aren't your own,
and your body covered in scars
carved by your own hand,
maybe then you would
finally understand.