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Depression

She surfaced, gasping for air

screaming and shouting until her throat seemed to bleed

But no one would listen, despite her obvious fear

They even overlooked her struggling to breathe.

 

She ached from pain and exhaustion

Her arms tired and her throat sore

But the crowd now gathered around her watched as if it were a show

They chanted with fists in the air, "More, more, more."

 

Her pain had become a morbid buffet

They chomped at her skin as if she were a gourmet meal

Each limb had had its turn and now she was tossed aside, only flesh and bone

It no longer seemed to bug her that these wounds would never heal.

 

The light inside of her had aready diminished

And now the fight was, too

Surely the monsters wearing flesh around her

Had to know they were cruel

 

She took another feeble breath

groping for someone, anyone's, hand

But as she surfaced again she realized she was not drowning at all

for she was on land

 

Depression is not an idea or a thing

It is a person, wearing your face and holding your name

And this person will abuse you over and over

But I fear it is not to make you any stronger.




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