Circles of Depression

Circles of Depression

I wake inside the same small room again,

walls remember every word I said.

Light tries the door and turns away in shame,

the morning knows my name and leaves me here.

Thoughts walk in circles round a tired mind,

they trace the cracks I tried to paint as hope.

Each promise folds back into what it was,

a borrowed breath that never learnt to stay.

I tell myself today will feel brand new,

every lie sits neatly folded in my chest.

Time moves ahead and leaves me standing still,

my clock grows tired of watching over me.

Smiles come prepared and leave without a sound,

they know the exit better than my heart.

I laugh on cue and feel the hollow echo,

a noise that proves I am still standing here.

I carry years like stones inside my coat,

pull me down while I pretend I cope.

People say healing comes if you believe,

belief feels heavier than what I hold.

Night wraps its arms around familiar fear,

the dark feels honest in a way that helps.

Tears fall in patterns I already know,

each drop repeats the one that came before.

I search for signs that this will one day end,

a crack in fate, a missed step by despair.

The circle tightens round another dawn,

I step inside and call it living still.

Somewhere beyond this well rehearsed pain,

a version of me waits without these chains.

Until that door remembers how to open,

I walk the circle and I breathe it in.