Broken Isn'T Beautiful

It shatters, breaks even, The body. The soul, It takes even. Depression; A word so beautifully Flawed, all the syllables Put together forming A body, a feeling. Nausea, Perhaps, De as in deep Rooted agony, Press, a Long gone self respect, I, a lost soul, lacking the Vitality. On, a journey, Not that perfect; aimless. Depression, a word So truthfully subjective, A lie, when read, an anguish, when felt. Its veins, magnificently Carved, singing the Rhyme of melancholy. Depression, what a fine word, a feeling, Crushing the person, so finely and the world, mistaking it as appealing. It is a miracle, we are able to walk.