Depression

Each day when I look in the mirror, I see sorrow that no one else sees. A burial shroud of depression has gathered its grip about me. I wish I could live without shadows and walk where the others have been. I'd tell everyone that I'd meet there how I've left a life that's never been. But this doom somehow follows through thick and thin. I've tried hard to leave it behind. So I guess I'll just be what I'm meant to be and get used to a life not desired. It brings sadness to turn from the sunshine and christen the funeral pyre, but the burial shroud of depression wraps me tight and holds to the fire.