What will become of these late nights
And the lack of Lithium?
Will panic overcome my fights
And seethe 'neath my cranium?
What of the voices in my head?
Will they ever go away?
And if I make it out of bed,
Will I make it through the day?
What about the disconcertion?
What will others think of me?
Can I stand true in assertion?
Be free of disparity?
Will I be able to enjoy
The life I so desire?
Will this wretched disease destroy
All of what I aspire?
Will I always feel so alone?
Will I never once feel whole?
(I muster up an aching drone;
I'm falling through the hole.)
I am tired of epoch
And I'm tired of the pills.
I am tired of feeling stuck.
I'm tired of the ills.
Each depression leaves me mangled,
Wond'ring if I'll make it through
The vines that keep me entangled
Suffocating fast and blue.
It doesn't matter where I go-
The enemy's inside me.
It doesn't matter what I know
Or who might be beside me.
What matters is that I survive
Winds born from peril's storm.
It matters that I stay alive
To keep purpose safe and warm.
Even though I am so jaded,
Something of me just won't stray.
And as parts of me are faded,
They just might come back someday.
So, as I wait through this late night,
My brain in such compression,
I will hold out to earn my right
To be free of depression.

©2021 Erin Marie Miller
© Erin Marie Miller