Depression’s back just like a fog,
That shields a thousand ways to flog,
The mind with negatives en masse,
I’m stuck inside a deep crevasse,
Where echoes haunt a wounded soul,
And disenchantment forms a hole,
Where salt is rubbed and thoughts are dim,
And minds are locked in mortal grim,
That drips with wrath from past melees,
For madness is a purple haze,
From which our sanity is drawn,
And treachery is surely born,
To play the game of life’s pretence,
Which leaves us hanging on the fence,
Stripped naked for the world to see,
Each gash rebukes a chance to flee,
And concrete running through our veins,
Embellishing the dark refrains,
Weighs heavily on hearts that beat,
So desperately to find retreat,
But nowhere finds the tortured breath,
Resisting shards of tempting death,
Though scarred and broken I must slog,
Depression’s back just like a fog.
© The Complicated Bunny – 07 Mar 2023
The Complicated Bunny 