Fighting depression is like dancing the tango with a masked assailant
in an empty room
trying to tame it
before it snaps
and starts shredding up the record you're playing to

and the others, I know, sit in the next room over
but they are too busy laughing to notice
your screams
echoing
because their laughter and the music
drowns it out

and so I keep screaming
until my throat is raw
telling myself that
if I don't stop dancing, the masked assailant will
twist my arm and pin me down on the couch,
ready to steal everything I am and
maybe even kill me
(I can see the noose and so badly
I want to grab it just to save myself
from this)

but I am tired, so tired
and everything hurts, throbs,
and even though I am crying,
even though my feet are bleeding with blisters,
I have to keep dancing
or else I will collapse

and the room is dark, so dark and dreary and empty
and my screams keep echoing, echoing, echoing
(at least in my head if not in the air)
but nobody hears me
and the masked assailant changes his shoes
when his soles wear out
(still gripping my hand as he does)
so I turn my head and keep up dancing
until I collapse from exhaustion.