For the past two years, my depression has been slithering across my brain like a snake in the grass. Like a bug I can't squish. Like a smudge I can't clean off completely, no matter how much I scratch, scrub, or scrape. I'm a realist with an imagination. I know what's happening in my brain. I recognize my triggers, my bad influences, and the surroundings in which I exist that contribute directly to my unhappiness. But what good does knowing do me? The snake started slithering again. I can know the chemical imbalances... but what good does knowing them do me? I have the chemical symbols tattooed on my forearms to remind me, since I was 20. I'm tired of these tattoos, too, if I'm being honest. They don't help like they used to. I want to cover them up. I've always loved butterflies. Maybe I'll do that. I wish I cared enough, to be able to hate them enough, to then have the drive necessary to save the money, make the appointment, and get them covered up. I keep feeling my desires to once again reinvent myself bubbling up from the very depths of me, but when it comes up, I stare at my desire in the face, and I turn & run away from it and curl up inside of the shell of myself.

The snake started slithering again.
I feel it across my brain...
I know it so well,
I've given it a name.
I want to forget it,
but it all stays the same.