Sadness,
Has many forms.
Grief, Loss, Depression.
All are one and the same, and somehow,
Yet not.

Depression twists and turns in your mind,
Becoming a monster,
It once, never was.
It sneaks in your thoughts,
And it comes into your dreams,
Twisting and turning and spoiling
Them all.

Depression
Is not sadness,
Yet is the most hated form of it,
For Sadness is combatable,
With smiles and laughs.
Depression keeps you away,
It locks you away,
Into your own world,
The only color,
Gray.

Depression
Is just sadness,
They say, with a smile,
Like lunatics, they throw them around,
Laughing,
All the while.
When you say those words,
Those insufferable words,
You strangle my hope,
My reason,
My voice.
And when you do that,
Who else can I trust?
Who else can I burden with this unholy truth?
Who else will turn away from me, like you just did?

I don’t want to know the answer to those questions,
They have barbs,
Yes, they hurt,
Yes, they sting,
Yes, they tear.
Those words do not heal me,
They don’t even try!
They burrow in further, ejecting self-confidence,
Evicting my courage,
Murdering my will.

So if,
One day,
These walls are painted,
Painted,
Painted,
Oh-so-red,
I hope you remember those barbs that you buried,
Those ticking time bombs you planted,
The ones that wore down my armor and wore down my walls,
So that the cracks
Finally showed,
But you did nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.

You stood there in silence, watching my moves,
The cracks that now showed,
Weren’t the beginning, at all.