[Avox.]

He was in it,
It defined him.
He needn't a name any more-
He was depression.

He looked down his mug,
But he didn't see coffee.
Instead, he saw a dirtied river
With decaying souls swimming
Lifelessly in it.

He drank it,
Closing his eyes at the bitterness
Of death.
Feeling the souls
Pour past his throat.

He lay on his bed
Staring at the ceiling.
It was white
So white
Like angels
That you met only when you were
Dead.

Like innocence,
Beauty,
Pure souls;
Everything he was not.

The tears fell once again
Becoming his newly found friends.
They were there to cheer him up,
There for him.
But he could taste the blood too,
The ones that he never wanted,
But kept craving to get out of him-
The blood that poured out his veins.

Depression