TW: no rhymes, no coherence; read at your own risk
it bangs on your doors at midnight
brings in a wave of your grotesque past
turns into a storm
wrapped in a damp blanket,
blurs and blocks your vision
before ravaging your soul for good
it slowly crawls into
your broken mind
light and swift
like a roach,
catches you unawares
sprawls into your insides
before spoiling your senses for good
if depression had a voice
its words would bleed,
its screech would rip and rattle
your earth's surface
before shattering its core for good
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