Drowning in my thoughts,
Submurging myself under the pressure of staying alive.
Depression is the disease that would drag me back
only to suffocate me.
When have I gotten so used to the flood?
Breathing, but not really living.
When will I learn to breathe underwater?
Trying to swim but not knowing how.
People weren't made to breathe underwater.
When all is given up,
And everything is forgotten,
A hand of hope reaches for me.
Finally, the hero of my chaos,
The help of blood pulling me back onto dry land,
Reminding my lungs, how much they like to savor the air,