The morning roll around again,
I wake and pick up my pen,
A shoddow lingers,
Remember how it began,
How many days,
To pick up my pen.
Countless hours,
Wading deep,
I prayed the Lord,
My soul to keep,
Each morning waking,
Is sometimes hard,
Working towards that light,
I think each morning,
When I wake,
How long can I keep the fight.
Living with depression,
Is a struggle through my days,
The doctors come to fight me,
Take what's left,
And on their way.
Its something more than sadness,
It holds and it consumes,
No one here to save me,
I feel I won't be living soon.
It has its hands around me,
Pulling me right down,
Most days I think that I should swim,
I end up drowned