My brain can now breathe,
plump penetrating my skull,
though scarred from stitches,
it operates without any glitches.
The fear of plummeting has lifted
through the space between me and you,
where I once pleaded on my knees
and now exhale for worth I see.
Medication is no more a stranger,
it has leveled the deceit of death
for a zombie ready to die
who could not suffer a cry.
Tears now welcome in the crowd,
carve trails upon my cheeks,
lifting the tattered vale
to reveal red beneath pale.
Bleeding is now sustainable,
bruised from the liver up,
I know how to massage the kinks,
in order to not sink.
Depression is not a distant haze,
now close enough to connect the dots,
and even closer to know
that it was a part of the road.
