My depression is like
Laying in a bed of thorns.
Every move will punish me,
Scratches matching every fear and compulsion.
I wonder what it would be like
To not have this burden hanging,
Like an executioners axe just
Waiting to be swung.
I wonder what it would be like
To not be watching over my shoulder,
With anxiety clawing at my every movement.
I wonder what it would be like
To be in a room full of people
And to know that I am loved.
To not need them to express it,
Because I had nothing to make me doubt.
I wonder what it would be like
To feel anything at all,
Except this ache,
This numbness that seems to cushion
My fall.