This truth taste like a bitter lemon 

it’s sour juices make most avoid it

Most don’t encounter this truth

Most.

Black that is all it wears.

eyes red from crying

either angry or sad or both

Sometimes good at hiding

It’s host placing a mask on the truth

As if to make it a lie or something not quite as bad

It walks dragging its feet 

Like a corpse in the street

This truth is in no way

Happy or gay

It is a sad and solemn truth

That no one loves

They push it away like a toxic lover

But it always returns for another round

Like an alcoholic at a bar

until put down like a rabid dog

It tells me things like

You will not find love

That there is no god up above

It tells me that I am a black dove 

unclean

On a bad day the truth wins

And people die

They try to fight it

But they’ve lost their fighting spirit

And die by their own hand

And become apart of the earthy land

In ashes or coffins they all lay

Because the truth could not be kept at bay

The truth’s name is depression

Most don’t encounter it

most