Poetry

The Five Stages: Depression

Condensed, thick fog

Surrounds my brain

Useless hands hang idly by

We were talking about . . .

something . . .

Weren’t we? But have you

noticed how foggy it is today?

How it muffles the sounds

And it suffocates the sights

How it blurs the ability to take in

And halts the ability to extend out

We were talking about . . .

something . . .

Weren’t we? But have you

noticed the fog?

 

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