Depression

Obscure inside where no one can see, No one really knows who she is, Invisible and silent disabled to life, Nobody knows that she lives, And she walks alone, breathes alone, She’s wallpaper tattered and torn, She feels she’s not even a simple small rose, She’s now not even a thorn, Because she’s mastered the art of ignoring herself, Ignoring her feelings inside, Doing and pleasing the people around her, Whilst ignoring the pleas in her mind, So now, to others, she’s a vision of smiles, To others she’s a beautiful spark, But inside she sits dead, numb and cold, With depression alone in the dark.