My depression is a figure
made of smoke.
It wraps itself around me
and suffocates me.
But I can't grasp it.
I only claw at my skin
as I try to make it release its grip.
It fogs my mind
until there is nothing left.
It filters through my being
until I'm left feeling empty.
It covers me like a blanket at night,
but this blanket doesn't comfort me.
It restricts me
and replays everything
I've done wrong.