DEPRESSION STOPPED LOOKING SEXY

"depression stopped looking sexy"

you crossed ten state lines
thinking distance would solve it
as if trauma can't hitchhike
twelve hundred miles later, it's still pressing down
it clings to the shadows beneath your ribs
echoes in the silence between highway exits
you pretend you’re fine
like healing is something that happens if you just blast enough sad music and keep going
you tell yourself you’re floating above it all
but gravity is stubborn
and memory doesn't respect mileage

a few years and ten state lines later
i still can't stop thinking about you
so i buried my brain in my backyard
and faded away on a twin bed
and became a drooling mouth breather
in front of a pixel 6 pro
consuming memes and jerking off
doomscrolling through people happier than me
anything to distract myself
from listing all the ways you suck

but my heart keeps clinging to a broken wish
it's chasing a shot destined to miss
i keep trying to reach for a star that's too far to hold
when will i ever learn that the soft whispers
were all just in my head

depression stopped looking sexy
and it finally began to hurt

"Mom, can you pick me up? There's a neo nazi here"

the results are in
i'm completely lost in the sauce
i'm a madman wearing a pair
of rose colored sunglasses
stumbling my way towards her

again on another bender
lying to myself to feel again
burning my REM cycles like incense
begging not to wake up weird again
chugging down red arrows
pretending i'm someone worth aiming for
waltzing around with a false narrative
believing she could be the one to break the spell
my forever fuck buddy
a painter with pretty green eyes
coloring me blue

last night i dreamt of her
she whispered all of her secrets to me
and ran her fingers through my hair

but she's already mouth locked with a tall incel
who lives on the far right side of the internet
and who gets hard whenever a fascists
yells out the earth is flat and run by jews

but i just can't help it
i'm a hopeless hoe swallowing her smile
allowing it to sour my insides
even if in a couple of hours i'll be shitting out
her nightmare

"All of my angels are dead or probably getting high somewhere"

i can't stand your face anymore
or the stupid stick figures in your canvas that you call art.
i also don't like living anymore.
it's not an enjoyable experience.
if i'm being honest,
i don't think it ever was.

i think i peaked during a depressive episode in 2022
while you were flirting with statues on the amalfi coast
posting sun drenched selfies and
sending me diary scraps like confessions
while i was learning how to starve in style
and praying that heartbreak would make me someone worth loving.

you told me you dumped him
like it was a secret you needed me to carry
and i did
because i thought maybe that meant something.
it didn’t.
it was just emotional warfare in soft lighting
the kind of honesty that feels like love
but only if you're stupid, hungry, or me.

i don't believe in god,
but i talk to the ceiling sometimes
just in case someone’s bored enough to answer.

Omar Alexandre and I enjoy writing confessional, darkly humorous poetry about heartbreak, memory, and digital-age decay. My work blends meme culture with emotional wreckage. I'm submitting 3 poems. I'm based in Miami, Florida.