Manya Saxena Poet I do not know?

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.

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