Words of Survival

A collection of poetry. Trigger warning; mentions of abuse, self-destruction, mental illnesses and so.


1. I Thought I Could Save Them

Growing up depression was not,

But merely a sad face

In the book of the single.

No one ever told me,

That kisses and relationships,

Does not mend a broken mind.


I met him as a broken,

My heart ached for him,

I knew I liked him.

Saving him seemed so easy,

Always said I made him happy.

Was it all façade?


No one ever told me,

About the ugly face of depression,

And its greed.

How his face would distort

By a slight mistake,

That I did.

Leaving what we had,

Leaving what was left,

But it left me with the scars,

Of a broken warrior.



Flashes of war trauma,

In the middle of night.

His hands on the body of mine,

Traumatising me to the core,

Finding embrace in her warmth,

Whispering lovely words,

Words she does not love.

Her body broken and bent,

Into shapes never known.

War has taken toll,

On the two of us.


An early morning kiss,

Giggles from her lips,

Creating space just for a second,

To help me catch my breath.

Broken promises whispered,

By broken souls who wants to care,

And dream of something bigger,

Than the two of them.

As we take knives to our wrists.


A pounding heart and sincere eyes,

Understanding in his words,

As he gently kisses.

Making me question, the broken inside,

Until we mess up.

Too big of a mess,

To ever be cleaned by two.

When created by three.


Quiet time with a smoke in hand,

Hair being cut,

Identity changed.

Nothing like midnight kisses,

From the bottle of liquor.

As tears I pretend are empty,

Runs down my broken body.

Hurt the inside more,

Another gulp of liquor.


Another day and another smile,

Yet another lie,

As we desperately try to catch ourselves,

Falling in blindness and in a mess,

Created several years before.

My books stay the same,

Yet I no longer believe,

In the love stories being told to me.


“You saved me,” the woman whispers,

Over and over.

Books and TV.

It is all just a lie.

The face of depression,

Cannot be defeated by an extra hand,

Or midnight kisses with a lover.

I thought I could save them,

But all I did,

Was to make it worse.


Crying in the early morning,

Not caring who see.

A fire turned off,

By running waterfalls,

Never stopping.

The carelessness of a blade,

Infected wounds and hollow eyes.

The third vodka bottle,

Before noon.

Not caring about the flame,

That is my soul.


“Be safe” turns to a lie,

We tell children.

It is for those not at war,

With the army on the inside.

My head rises from the pillow,

As she returns to the room.


It is not said,

But the subtle smell of blood,

Clings to her.

I sigh once again,

But she stays quiet.

Both defeated.

Caught in the whirlwind of depression,

Too far down in the black sea,

To ever breathe.


I thought I could save them.

That it would help me.

Or find someone not broken,

By the sickness in the head.

Yet all I did was to worsen,

Or make people sick.

Infectious diseases,

Given through broken words,

And empty liquor bottles.

I thought I could save them,

But all I wanted to,

Was to save myself

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