Depression was her fastest friend of all,
When no one else was there it came to call,
Rushing to greet her with so many thoughts,
Pain, agony and self doubt always brought.
Not too deep, just enough to bring on sleep.
Obsession of lack of being perfect,
Too slight and being insignificant,
She binds herself tight in preparation
Bliss, fantasy and a brief elation.
Not too much, just waking sleep is enough.
Distortion of everything about her,
The comfort of living a constant blur,
Perfection drifts off with reality,
Notching her arm causing her not to be.