It is waking up in the morning
Realizing it is half-past noon.
It is realizing that
The dream you had
The night before
Only felt real,
And the jaws of life
Did not decapitate you.
It is feeling your life
Draining
With every excretion.
It is living
In the sense that
Vital signs are still intact.
It is your beliefs
Losing all meaning.
It is forgetting
That you ever believed in anything.
It is believing
That every belief
That you ever believed
Is fallacious
And holds as much water
As the tears you hold back
On a daily basis.
It is the inability
To articulate
Your sadness.
Your loneliness.
Your rage.
It is the darkness of your universe.
It is the sun
Exploding,
Wiping out the civilization
Of an otherwise
Stagnant orbit.
It is your retreat
Into the suction
Of the black hole.
It is your hand
Resting by your side.
It is the hand
You hope to see reaching out.
It is keeping that hope to yourself.
It is the distance
Between you and your closest neighbor.
It is revolving your life
Around your deepest insecurities.
It is never allowing companionship
To come your way.
It is feeling uncomfortable
Around your friends.
It is expecting your friends
To become enemies.
It is a morning commute
With numerous passengers
Quick to point.
It is a night at open mic
Feeling as if the accusations
Exclaimed
Are meant to cut you down.
It is hearing whispers in the night.
It is expecting everyone
breathing your air
To hold their breath.
It is a blank canvas.
It is the paint
Pigmented with the opposite
Side of morality.
It is becoming everything you hate.
It is thinking
For a split second
That fascism is a good idea,
For if the government and corporation
Tie a titanium knot,
We will all die quicker.
It is the ring
That the word "die"
Appears to have whenever exclaimed.
It is waking up in the morning
Wondering why you are still living.
It is the shame
You feel for wanting to die.
It is the sudden release
Of emotion
And quicker soothing
After reaching for the pills.
It is sleeping in,
Hoping to see
a light
You could never see during your existence.
It is the trauma of surviving.
It is wishing
You were built
With a self-destruct button.
It is the failure you feel after surviving.
It is the imminent relapse
You expect to take place
After finding stability.
It is the relapse
Occurring every six years
Wiping every coping resource clean,
Never remembering how you ever
Saw the light.
It is armageddon,
Paying for injustices
You never committed in your right mind.
It is a premature sentence
To eternal damnation.
Depression is more than a disease.
It is a disease
That in many methods
KILLS.

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