It's a little different to the last one.
DEPRESSION
It's like 10 thousand hands are pulling you under,
Each minute getting worse,
As you go into the dark,
The dark miserable place no one wants to see,
Depression,
It's not a nice word,
It's not a nice situation,
The hands continue to pull you under,
By this point you can't control it,
You keep sinking,
Like sinking sand,
Slowly,
Painfully,
Yet,
They pull you under quickly,
You can't see,
You are FORCED to wear black clothes,
And FORCED a fake smile,
No choice from there,
Except...
There's a ladder,
An extremely difficult ladder to climb,
Are you going to climb it?
Yes,
Then good,
Go. Now!
No?
Really?
Then you'll be there forever in the midst of black universe,
No way out,
But the ladder?
It's still there,
Deteriorating as such,
It will start to disappear,
Slowly and painfully,
Just like you did,
From then?
Yeah,
Definitely no way out,
*
YOU ARE READING
Define it.
PoesíaThe title says it all. I define things. I define things to the smallest part of that word or thing and my deepest thoughts. I guess you could call it a poem just without rhyming. Read it. See what you think.... Read it. Hear it. See it. Feel it...
