Depression
is not romantic
it is not
tear drops on rusty guitar strings
accompanying a soft trembling voice
it is not
cigarette smoke from soft lips
highlighted by pale moonlight through the window
it is not
bitter black coffee in recycled paper cups
discussing how much it can compare itself to you
it is not
somber solace found in between the lines she wrote
displayed as the flower-adorned suicide note you hang in your locker
it is not
being held as you weep
your lover's soul pouring into your cold body
it is not
a gentle touch wiping away your tears
and fixing what was never broken
it is not
romantic at all
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that my depression
is a human
or any sort of noun
when you've never felt it verb
through your temples
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that there's anything
romantic
about it