Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
It doesn’t go away in a day.
It’s not as simple as a frown or growl. –
It’s slow, making each breath very weak.
So tiring and real. And fake. And true.
A lie that’s so bold,
It cannot not hurt me,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
I’d rather be sad, than depressed.
I’d rather not have these burning tears.
This heartache is too much for me.
So much I cannot feel it
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
It’s not agony or fear.
So much deeper; So within.
So inexplicable and cruel.
A thief, making me a clown.
No wonder I have nothing,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
Say all I’ll never hear.
It won’t help, but don’t worry,
Things are pretty stable now.
I’m not going to sink in,
For it’s not possible to do so
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
I’m as sorry as I’ll ever be.
Take it for granted, throw it away.
Keep it locked up, cut though the pain.
Lay on the grass. Brown, not green.
It hasn’t been watered,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
I await right here.
Where no bird can sing
Any melancholic tunes.
For they are all too happy,
Compared to this feeling,
Of not having where to go,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
A cry for a miracle, perhaps.
Untouchable; Unique.
Full of wisdom, desperation.
Just like cattle: Standing, eating.
Knowing the farmer will come.
And kill it. And sell it.
Not care or touch its young,
Any more.

It’s depression, not sadness.
A hungry hope yet to come.
And when it comes – Oh! the wonders!
Of joy, relief and pride.
No, not pride. Never!
I refuse to go that low.
The well will not consume me,
Or swallow all my love,
Any more.

Any more.

Any.

More.

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