“the night we met you told me if i was a color i’d be yellow and that you’d never get tired of dancing in my glow. years later, your hand now rests on my left cheek and you tell me that i need to lower my voice when i speak. you call yourself king and the only noise of mine you can stand is my body on a creaky box spring - mother fucker, i wear the apron strings you gave little meek me and i will hang you with these god damn things.”
— smspoetry
depression-healthy-carrier