Depression visits often
He’s the kind of guy
Who doesn’t wipe his
Shoes before entering
And leaves traces of
Himself through out
The house
He keeps to himself
But you can always
Find him washing down
His doubts with cheap wine
Or writing a love poem
That never gets delivered
When it’s time for him
To leave, he usually
Prolongs his goodbyes, but
When all is said and done
He quietly sneaks out
Without me noticing
Even though he’s gone
I leave a key under the door mat
Because I know he will
Be back soon.