deepundergroundpoetry.com
My Depression
It's difficult to predict
Harder than the weather I suppose
An apt analogy though
Forcing a change of clothes
A subtle fog rolls in
Barely perceivable mist
Blanketing the landscape
Easily missed
That's the annoying part
Before you know it, the fog is dense
But you're still wearing shorts
A sunny day becomes one of defense
Now you scramble to decide
The proper attire for the change
Black seems so appropriate
But you avoid appearing strange
It's okay to feel it inside
But don't bring others down
Smooth out angry lines
Fake a smile, hide your frown
Storm clouds gather
You couldn't out run their pace
Time to seek the shelter
To wait out this morbid place
But you don't belong anywhere
And no where welcomes your shroud
You didn't read the dress code
You dare not read it aloud
Sleep is what you crave
Or to be left alone
To wallow in self-pity
Pick at an old, hollow bone
Count your blessings some say
All my journals have lists
Time seems to be
The only thing that assists
Every storm passes
At its own rate
It's the unpredictability
Of when they come, that I hate
Harder than the weather I suppose
An apt analogy though
Forcing a change of clothes
A subtle fog rolls in
Barely perceivable mist
Blanketing the landscape
Easily missed
That's the annoying part
Before you know it, the fog is dense
But you're still wearing shorts
A sunny day becomes one of defense
Now you scramble to decide
The proper attire for the change
Black seems so appropriate
But you avoid appearing strange
It's okay to feel it inside
But don't bring others down
Smooth out angry lines
Fake a smile, hide your frown
Storm clouds gather
You couldn't out run their pace
Time to seek the shelter
To wait out this morbid place
But you don't belong anywhere
And no where welcomes your shroud
You didn't read the dress code
You dare not read it aloud
Sleep is what you crave
Or to be left alone
To wallow in self-pity
Pick at an old, hollow bone
Count your blessings some say
All my journals have lists
Time seems to be
The only thing that assists
Every storm passes
At its own rate
It's the unpredictability
Of when they come, that I hate
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