My Savior Will Never Come

I feel wrong.
I feel dead.
I feel weak.
I feel stupid.
I lie awake.
Every night.
Wondering, with every second the sun comes to showing its light.
If I will feel something other than emptiness.
If I will feel whole, and not broken to pieces.
If I will remember the old me.
The old me would feel something.
The old me would smile, not frown.
The old me would want to be held, not run from her happiness.
The old me would think about joy and love, not face despair with death craving eyes.
I have turned my back on love.
I have lost all communication with trust.
I hide from courage.
I let the nothingness have me.
I scream for help.
I cry for a savior.
I fight Depression, only to see no one cares.
No one wants to save me.
No one at all.