Of one million cars
Stuck in never ending traffic;
Haunted and held hostage
By the fickle remains of a
Broken youth.
I circle back and wonder:
Have I always been so
Despondent?
Was I always so easy
to cast aside?
I suppose depression works in
Different ways for
Different people.
I find mine most often in
Morning,
Or rather,
Mourning.
The weight on my chest
settles in like a
Cold bath gets tolerable
But never
Comfortable.
I tried to call a therapist today,
But the thought itself
Frightened me away.
It's as if accepting it's
Necessity
Is accepting that
I've lost control.
