
Hollow is the soul of the depressed man
Non-existent in nature,
It cannot be filled
as easily as a bowl or cup;
The joy drains from the cracks,
Seeping slowly,
Leaving a husk behind.
Rest offers a brief respite
from the self-hatred you feel,
But ten minutes after waking,
You cannot keep on faking
The idea that you are ok
You're just tired
Or stressed,
Or maybe, you should recognise,
what you are is:
Depressed



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