All about depression

Depression is a shape poem A difficult one in times of contemplation A shape that gets you, almost in nothingness Whispers darkness in the valley of your chest. Where the minaret stood in the bed of the eternity Till the very last minute, that along the way, divinity sent Modernization knew demolishing much too well and much too vivid in the end, to stress what it meant. Oozing secretion dampens in cold and clutters on and on... And we call it the pseudo-pen That mentors to shift the shape Straight path should be the straightest one, to be frank, My utterance calms me there As it does mostly, unconditionally enough And I knew along the way, that God is enough for any befitting pay stubs To carve with a knife on any life, whatsoever. Man is mortal.