I can't remember the day depression

morphed

from emotion

to instrument,

from catastrophe 

to tool,

from crippling pain,

to a blanket of comfort

draped around broken shoulders.

What once poisoned,

was my muse,

what once clouded vision

was my clear inspiration

what once usurped strength and life

became my dependency,

my IV line,

a reason to carry

on.

For I could take this sorrow,

and turn it into song.

When hands reach out,

I shy away.

When friends call,

I pretend not to recognize my name.

Hiding in this leaky cave

I've learned is my haven,

my home.

I'm better off alone.

Alone, my woes can be

words of encouragement to people

like me.

But because I have festered in this sadness

so long,

it has consumed me,

like Gollum glowing over his precious ring.

To those who are happy,

I can only bring pain.

To those who laugh in the sun,

upon them I rain.

I am toxic, oozing, dangerous, deadly,

all for the sacrifice of a gift:

one painfully beautiful melody.

If you see me,

you may listen and linger,

but do not reach out your fingers

to try to pry into the abyss of my heart.

It might just make you

fall apart.

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