I am a shell of the person I was before,
I fear every minute what tomorrow has in store,
I don’t feel like working,
I don’t feel like doing a chore.

My house is a mess,
Waking every day a duress,
I don’t feel like meeting people,
I can feel my insides cripple,
I feel involved even less.

I can’t feel joy,
I can’t feel pain,
Days blend into nights,
All feels in vain.

The little paper cutter,
Invites me near,
my silent pleas can any one hear,
The vortex just deepens,
pulls me within,
My shrink says it’s depression,
My spouse thinks it’s me.

dedicated to those who silently suffer.