Wounds

I pick at my problems
as if they were sores on my skin.
They hurt just as much,
but they're not as easy to remove.
They crawl around and burrow
where they can never be reached,
never to be brought to the light.
Always hidden, always festering and itching.
Always scratching at the problem I can't see.
Blindly searching for a remedy to an illness
I'm not aware of.
How do you fix the issue
when it becomes a part of you?

What is this?

i wouldn't call this depression

but i also wouldn't call this happiness

Signs

You know you're in love
when you'd trade your sanity
for just one more minute in their company.
When you'd jump off a building,
arms spread wide like featherless wings,
with just a glimpse of a hope that they'll
be there to catch you.
When you can count the hours on the clock
by how many times their name echos in your head.
It's a good thing I know what love looks like
so I can keep an eye out for it when it finally finds me.