Silent Killer

Some days I wake up and the sun doesn’t shine as bright.

Nothingness engulfs me and numbs my heart.

And the load I carry doesn’t seem as light.

These days, the blur, I seem to know exactly what it is.

This thing, it has a name.

So why does it seem that this is what I can never say?

Depression.

It knocks on my door at 3 AM like an unwelcome visitor,

A guest I cannot keep out or hide from.

My days become meaningless,

The hours creeping by and

My body’s on auto-pilot

Depression.

What I can never say.

Because, who would really care?

Vanity rules the world

So if it cannot be seen, it isn’t really there

My depression.

It isn’t really there?

I can’t see it. I can’t touch it.

So it must be an illusion.

Depression.

The silent killer.

The sorrow that hugs my heart tightly and won’t let it breathe

While I walk around in pain,

And paint a smile on my face so no one notices

What they can’t see

And what I can never say.

Depression.

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