Don’t tell me my anxiety isn’t real
When I’m standing in an empty hallway listening to the same echo, each time with less appeal
Don’t tell me my depression is fake
When the mirror in that empty hallway paints tears on my face
Don’t tell me I’m okay
When I hire painters to splatter the walls with red because it makes the black go away
Don’t tell me I’m exaggerating
When even the red can’t hide that the whole house is contaminated
The poison seeps in
Deeper and deeper
Sunk into a corner
Someone call the coroner.