Depression is a heavy ***** blanket
That wraps you and won’t let go
It sometimes becomes cold and soaked
And you can’t take it off
And it dries and becomes a little lighter
But it’s still there

It sometimes keeps you warm
And it is the only sense of safety that you hold on to in those lonely Sunday afternoons
When the only warmth you get is that dreaded blanket

That blanket becomes the only thing you know
It creates a sense of familiarity that when you don’t feel it draping over you
You begin to wonder if you finally have managed to take it off
But it’s still there whether light as satin or heavy as wool
It will always be there

Until that final day when they’re covering you with it in a wooden box