Whispers of the soul

My depression's a job, full-time, all-consuming,

A storm in my mind that's endlessly looming.

It doesn't bring sorrow, just anger instead,

At myself, at the world, at the life I've been led.

No magic can cure it, no pill will suffice,

This burden I carry, this unending vice.

And BPD whispers, a shadow that stays,

A roommate for life in my darkest of days.

I welcomed them in, these uninvited guests,

They turned my warm home into cold, bitter rests.

No fire I spark can bring back the heat,

I curl in the corner, my heart's last retreat.

Yet deep down I hope, though the grip's iron-tight,

That one day I'll flee, step into the night.

The grim reaper waits with a calm, quiet grace,

Offering rest in his somber embrace.

I'm tired, you see, in my body, my soul,

A shell of a person, no longer quite whole.

Forgive me for leaving; it's not out of spite,

But to save myself from the endless fight.

You might call me selfish, but know this is true,

Your love was a light that helped pull me through.

I wasn't meant to last this long in the fray,

But you gave me strength to survive every day.

So goodbye, dear friend, please know it's not blame,

The warmth of your kindness still carries my name.

I have faith you'll find peace and grow from the pain,

While I seek my escape from this shadowed domain.