(no subject)

[ysobel]

cw: depression stuff

I stand at the edge of a mental cliff, arms spread as if I 
Am able to fly. Beneath me, before me, is a land that is
Not touched by the light of the sun. I stand alone but
All around me are voices, slithering and sibilant, as if
Right there with me. They urge me forward, downward. 

Will I listen? It matters not. The voices do not belong to
Anybody in particular, just the brainweasels that
Notice when I am weak and swarm to bring me deeper,
If I am not already there, into the abyss they call home. 
I am not sane. Depression and anxiety have left me
Just a shell of who I was before, and someday I may
Disappear into their lonely depths where no light falls. 
Someday. Just maybe not today.