Depression is such a nasty monster

Depression is a nasty monster

A skeleton with a ribcage filled with tar

And a brain filled with static

Dragging along his victims

And blocking everything from their vision with bony fingers

He is so empty

Despite managing to suck all of the life out of the room

And being around him makes you want to lie down

Because your thoughts are so loud

But thinking them is all you have the energy to do

He stole away your interests

And claimed them as his

As he dripped tar all over your life

And made it seem so unappealing

He made you forget the feeling of sunlight

Drew the curtains over the windows of your room

That you haven’t left in 3 days

He made you stare into the mirror

At a reflection you don’t recognize

Aware of the bags under your eyes

And all of the time passed doing nothing

The pills can help, everyone says

(Or make it worse. They never mention the side-effects)

Though they rot in your palm

Shaking and rattling in bright orange bottles

They burn on your tongue and coat your mouth in bitter hope

You know they can help

It is rough healing form the touch of this monster

To clear the static he forces into your brain, clean the tar from your hands

His tempting silence is almost a comfort

To be held in his wispy grip rather than wading through high waters

He often resurfaces just to create new wounds

New scars that never fully heal right

I can only hope that he will get bored of me

That he hates the taste of bitter pills as much as I do

And we will function as we once did without his grasp in our life

Washing away his mess is never a joyful experience

Tar and dust and static an invading force that seems to leave residue wherever it’s existed

To deconstruct your self simply to remove the debris

And build yourself up again without his influence

Such a nasty monster, indeed