Chains of Depression

with luscious deep depravity
and shudders from thorns
that rained on high
my life is sketched
from the bloodstained palms
of a victim
wanting to die.
it creeps across my chest
and down along my arms
soaks into my veins
and lures me with its charms
the sickness shall come back again
that's what they always
seem to say
but I'll be damned
if they aren't right
I seem to think it may.
a distorted view
is what I get
for all my years of lust
and I'll be the first to tell you
my...obsessions
if I must.
but nigh, aren't words such fickle things?
a moment's comfort at best
and lest my faith be cast aside
and my soul be swung abreast,
I'll lock these blackened secrets up
with cheap pills,booze,and dirty thoughts
with chains of depression, push them back
and kill off all the rest.