The depression no longer ****** me
Nor does it bite or scratch
Or tear its way to my skin
From the depth of my core, outward
But occasionally, on my dark days
I will feel a nibble
On my lung or my heart
Reminding me that its still there
That its hungry
It wants feeding. So I do.
I give it my grief and my anger
And everything that keeps me whole
Until I am a little less complete
But it is no longer hungry
And it can no longer nibble
Or scratch, or bite through
My every capillary
I am incomplete
But I am happy
Almost.