Poetry

The Constant War Of Depression

She is fighting a war,

a war no one will see.

She is crying out,

an unheard plea.

She is fighting herself,

and she is not winning.

All the while,

she is seen always grinning.

Her battle scars go unnoticed,

not a soul says a word.

With her last ounce of strength,

she draws her sword.

She holds it up,

and runs into the night

for what may end up being

her last fight.

She attacks the enemy,

slicing across her antagonists.

Unfortunately,

she sliced deep into her wrists.

This battle, however,

is only one

of the inevitable many

that have yet to come.

At least tonight

she came out alive.

She goes to bed,

but under her pillow is a knife