Until these wounds heal

1. Monster

She was young when depression sunk his claws into her skin,
Right about the summer after school,
Where all her friends dressed in short sleeves,
Whilst bearing clear skin they laugh that they're so depressed,
Yet with his claws and jagged teeth ripping her skin to the bone,
And her mind being torn to pieces how could they laugh she pressed,
Her friends glamourised their depression,
Giggling that they were bed rotting, barely seeing sunlight,
Yet she knew of the harsher monster,
The one who scratched his claws at her soft skin at night,
Meanwhile in daylight she was not bed rotting,
She still had to continue her day,
For there was no one she could tell that she was wasting away,
Inside he was screaming at her mind,
Shattering her soul to pieces like glass,
Yet he manipulated her into wearing a smile,
Hiding under long sleeves and plasters for a while,
He built up a drought inside her so she could not so desperately cry,
So when she was asked if she was okay she could lie,
"Why is your monster funny?" I reply,
My young curious self pondering over why,
They looked at me confused with frowns painting their faces,
With which they exchanged bewildered glances,
"Monsters don't exist" they exclaim,
I laugh it off with them as to not appear crazy,
But I can't help wondering,
Then what is that thing that lurks around every night,
Because there isn't a monster under my bed,
Yet instead there is a much scarier one that lives inside my head.