It's been a while hasn't it?
Since I started to type a response?
But I feel like I should
I feel like it's time to,
So here goes nothing I guess..
It is a thief isn't it?
Taking the brightest light it can find
Tugging on heartstrings
And pulling them taunt
Trying to steal them away.
It rips at feelings and molds them like clay
In its image,
It sits, It's weight like an elephant,
Upon hearts.
Pushing down so hard
Until you feel It in your stomach.
It's a thief I hate.
It has taken away too many people
Not just that I know but in general.
It kills and can't seem to be killed,
Even if you manage to snuff It out,
To pry It from you,
Which I hope you do.
Even if you make It leave,
It's left a mark, an impression
It might leave you with scars
Sometimes everyone can see them
Other times just you...
But if It leaves Its only moving on
There's always someone else
Someone whose flame burns just as bright,
or brighter, another challenge for It,
Or maybe someone,
Whose flame is already weak?
An easy snack, another "nameless victim".
The point is, Depression is a Thief.
But It's damn stupid if it thinks
a flame as bright as yours
Is gonna go down easy.
