Depression is a cloven beast it robs us of our choice

it steals away our dignity and silences our voice


Depression is the blackened hole that sucks us to our knees

it whispers thoughts, seductive taunts, and kills us by degrees


Depression is a prison cell without the need for bars

in tightly locked and sunless rooms we bide away the hours


Then if by chance you stay alive, the mist may slowly fade

for it’s by chance, some fate, some luck, that keeps us from the grave


Depression is a teacher whose gift is many things

resilience, hope, the power of us, the equalness of beings.


It woke in me, the dyslexic one, random hours of the night

a chance to say what’s on my mind, it taught me how to write


It took from me my fear of death, to that I’d paid no mind

and then by chance it gave it back, a gift unto the dying


When fear of death no longer sways, a calmness can prevail

and choices made, kept from the grave, alive to tell the tale


So what I learned when looking back, upon that lonely walk

the same refrain wrapped up in pain, and still a fear to talk


“We need to change the last line, please reach out to someone around you”

About Nick

I don't say things to be liked I say them because I mean them. Reputation doesn't come from being liked it comes from standing for something.
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