Holding up a wall

A really, really old piece about depression.

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I'm pushing against the door, and the door is pushing back, caught in a state of equilibrium. But I'm starting to slip, and my spine's gonna crack, spewing the blood of pure delirium. How long will this scale stay balanced? Until a feather drops, and this whole place is overrun, by the monsters who claim that they're just having fun? And how long, will it take for them to take over? And this whole place is filled with loud screams and painful roars?

The monsters, the monsters aren't mean, but they scream and they scream, until your ears start to bleed. The monsters, the monsters aren't freaks, just creeps who decide it's best to kill you in your sleep.

And it's not that I don't want to hold the door, but that I physically can't Too many lives depending on my strength and a piece of wood. And I hear that wood creaking, see a hand slipping through that crack, and there's nothing that I can do, but desperately pray for them to go back. How long, how long can I hold it? Can my pain seal the fissure, act as superglue, hold the wood together for long enough to save you? And how much, how much are they asking me for, do they want my life, perhaps a sacrifice's enough

The monsters, the monsters aren't mean, but they scream and they scream and they will always scream.