The man sat there,
In between his bedroom doorframe,
Head against his knees,
Gray seeping in from every corner,
Threatening his happiness each tick of the clock.

The shadows seemed to duplicate themselves,
Surrounding him;
Sucking him into the misery of depression.
He fantasized of a rope around his neck;
Dreamed of death to swallow him.

But this plague would not take his life;
No, it fed off the heaviness of the heart,
Feasted upon the hollow, melancholy feeling,
Eating the man alive from the inside out;
Loving every second of human suffering.

He sat there,
Pained in his desolation,
Thinking about a way out,
An escape from the thoughts of suicide,
But really,
Was there an escape?