Poetry

Depression

It is a strange world to exist in
And I could not replicate it if I tried
The fog, the haze, the unmistakable maze
The pied piper that promises lies

A tune here, a whistle there
A tongue twister comprised of bile
A jitter, a bug, a half-milled slug
Why must it be so vile?

There are very few things that interest me
A knee, a tree, a bee
But it is these things which will destroy me
And take me away in glee

Both knees shall be broken into two
No valley shall I pass through
A bee shall no longer buzz and sting
There, you see, I’ve lost my wings

And the tree, what a wonderful tree
Completely full of life is she
But with my hands, myself, my child
Maliciously I will snap it flat and hear it crack

And in such conditions
I will flee

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1 thought on “Depression”

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