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why is it nighttime
i am in a room of blue
floor ceiling walls
all blue
but the walls are not opaque
they act like mirrors
and in them i see a wasted man
he stares back blankly at me
his skin torn around his eyes
his hair long and unkempt
his facial hair spotty yet overgrown
he looks at me with a smile
but then suddenly yells
hes shouting about the news
or the president or something
im not sure because i cant really hear him
you know like the way you would hear
a mother yell at her son
or a father shaking his head in disappointment
he puts his hand on the wall next to me
and he urges me to place my hand on his
but im too scared
he tells me that itll be okay so i did it
and when our hands touch
we fuse by the palm
and become one
then the walls of the blue room collapse
and my head breaks through the drywall
and i just lay down and look at the stars.
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This piece is a human reflection of depression and mental illness and, further, a description of how it tears at us, as a society, bleeding us dry.