Depression Arjen Doting

It’s like a cloud in my head.

A fog, a haze,

Which never lifts

That never fades.

It’s like a monster in my bed.

A scream, a fear,

Which at every dawn

Is always here.

It’s like words that can’t be said.

Whispers, pleas,

Unanswered and lost

In the midnight freeze.

It’s like wounds that haven’t bled

Anguish, a torment.

A struggle of the mind,

The soul’s dissent.

It’s like a hunger that can’t be fed.

An urge, a need,

The insatiable void

Of sorrow’s greed.

It’s like skin I cannot shed,

A trap, a snare,

A prison cell

Growing from underneath my hair.

It’s the wish that I was dead,

At rest, at peace,

In that warm, dark place

Where doubt will cease.

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