He sits in the corner,
darkness surrounds him.
Cold wind whips around him
and his eyes are full of coal;
he walks over to me
with his entourage of hopelessness.
His formless arms wrap around
pulling me into his empty embrace.
Pain and torture
a constant in my mind.
My breathe becomes vapor,
visible to the naked eye.
The sun disappears
behind the clouds of eye perspiration.
My depression is a burglar,
a thief of good times and happiness.
He steals the motivation to move forward
and the ability to fight him off.
©a.l.melton
A