I
Love
The
Colors
And
Smells

Of
Warm
Cinnamon
And
Ground
Beans

Muffins
And
Green
Tea

The rustle
Of
A
Newspaper

The
Quiet
Clicking
Of
Keys

Gives my
Weary
Heart
A
Break

And
A
Safe
Place
To
Be

You'd think that
Since the load of stress breaks my
Back with its weight,
That being able to relax would allow me to heal.
But I am lost without the routine of school, as much as I loathe it.
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that
I would be able to swim back up
From the violent ocean of thoughts
I assume other people have about me,
But I'm drowning myself, weighing myself down with my own criticism.
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that having all the free time in the world
To improve my various skills would be A blessing of opportunity,
But perfectionism and laziness grip my Shoulders, breathe into my mind,
"It won't be good enough anyway."
Depression is funny like that.

You'd think that
Without anything bad happening,
The contemplation of suicide wouldn't still be smoldering in the back of my mind.
But for some reason I'm blowing on the embers, and coaxing out a blaze...

Depression is funny like that.