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A Love Letter To My Depression Couch

Brown suede
Broken back legs
Sink me deep into the valley
Suspending my disbelief
And my body
As I am cradled in cushions
Reeking of stale farts
And stained with pools of black mascara tears
And pizza sauce
I burrow
Hidden under the weight of all the cushions
So I no longer feel the weight of the world.
The only thing I hear is the Netflix chiming in the background
I can’t get up and tell them I’m still watching
I’m not even facing the tv
And I’m definitely not facing my problems
Is this self-care?
I don’t even know what time it is
But I’m happy here
Blissfully unaware of the world around me
It’s almost like someone is holding me
A grip I’ll never want to escape
As I try and escape
The lurking feelings of the death I once longed for
She’s knocking on my door
But I don’t get up to answer
She calls me
But my phone’s lost in the cushions
And I’m so zoned out
And when the front legs fall of
I probably won’t even notice
I’ll just turn The Office up
When my body’s imprint
Is so deeply engrained into the fabric
I still won’t get up
Because I am no longer a sad person
I am a happy couch


23 year old poet from Columbus, Ohio. Follow me on Twitter and Instagram (@CandyCain152) for blog updates, artwork, for my random thoughts and to hear all about what I'm reading and listening too.

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