Treatment Resistant Depression

*"A weight that grows roots in the marrow,
where light, though called, will not tread.
Doctors offer keys of rust and glass,
each turning in a lockless door.

It is the echo of remedies past,
the hollow sound of hope unfound,
where the mind is both prisoner and warden,
whispering a cure that never comes."*
Copyright © | Year Posted 2025

Poem

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