I am severely depressed.
Every day is a struggle just to get out of bed.
They tell me: don't worry, just take your meds.
And yet...

I don't mind the cold,
It seeps into me, down to my bones.
The chill in my soul forms icicles in my nose,
They drip down my throat.

A pancaked atlas.
The weight of the world condensed, flattened.
A singularity of sadness.
Unsure of how or why this happened.

My only misgiving is that
Something important to me has gone missing.
Man's purpose, what makes him divinely great
Unfortunately, I've lost my ability to create.