Depression is not a creature with a tangible form
It is not a being that can be battled or slain.
It is not a lion or bear to be tamed,
It is not a weight that Atlas may hold.

Depression is not an armed foe,
it does not have swords that you may cross.
There is no shield nor barrier it cannot pass
And there are no pleas that fill its ears.

No plant can poison its translucent skin
No blade can pierce its breast nor
plunge into its throbbing black heart.
There is no weapon able to conquer.

Depression is no damned fool
The walls you built don't exist
It lingers, just beyond your gate
knowing for you, there's no escape.

It is the shadows that lie with your heart
And it is the doubt that smothers your soul
Depression is the sky hanging above the gallows
And it is the executioner that looses your rope.

It sinks into your skin
and sleeps within organs
It crawls on your bones
and swims in your veins.

It swallows your friends
and devours your kin.
It wells up like a river
and tides with the sea.

Depression is the waves that slide over land
Depression is the water that steals your air.
It is the barrier that covers your ears
And the pain that pricks at your hope.

It is the pen that you wield
and the sword that you hold.
It thrives in your silence
and dies in your throat.

It is reborn in your ashes
and birthed in the stars.
Depression is the air you take
and the water you drink.

It is the hate that you feel
and the death that you fear.
It is the end that you crave
and the thief that you hate.

It is everything within you.