The Ambiguous Aggression

A poem I wrote in my last depressive/anxiety spiral.

These are the days, these are the weeks
These are the people, these are the lives, 
But surely life shouldn’t feel so meek?
To be running at a standstill, sitting at the dives.

Within us all is the affirming flame,
Within us all is the beacon of light and hope.
Surely life is about the giving, not the game
We just need to stop pretending to cope

We might force upon us a smile,
We might force a laugh.
But surely if we were to pretend for a while,
We’d stop being points on a graph.

We’d stop being a statistic to be looked at,
We’d stop being one more in the blues.
Surely if we tried to forget all that,
People would stop trying to accuse.

They say they’re here, they say they’re there
They claim that they’re gonna care...
But surely they don’t dare,
And we’d stop having someone to care.

The little white lies we tell ourselves,
The little white lies we tell our closest.
Surely they’d understand if it was about themselves
They’d understand, they’re our closest.

I wonder what it’s like in another mind,
I wonder what it’s like to delve down.
But surely it would be nicer, much more kind
Rather than to be stuck here, ready to drown.

The feeling of drowning consumes
The feeling of being consumed confuses,
Surely they’ll need to presume
the feeling of never ending bruises.

I suppose this here’s my confession
I suppose it’s my escape.
But surely to write to the ambiguous aggression,
I’ll finally be able to able to reshape. 

Author's Note

I'm a bad writer, don't chastise me for that. Please be kind.