It's not pretty, and it's not kind.
It's the stack of laundry you've been meaning to fold,
that has now become an unyielding castle.
And depression is the impenetrable dragon guarding it against entry.

It's a feeling of happiness that drifts in and out of your life,
just long enough for you to think that you're not trapped,
even though your shackles are still tethered to an unbreakable prison.

It's seeing the dust trail gather along your treasures and your things,
knowing it won't physically go away until you do something about it,
but feeling overwhelmed by the sheer idea of sweeping it away.

This is depression.
It's not pretty, and it's not kind.
But it is me.