Depression

I am suffering from a black plague,

Though the symptoms are very vague.

My air comes in rattled breaths,

A squeezing constriction in my breast.

My stomach feels heavy and contorted,

And its lentamente is not all I’ve reported.

My eyes are null and sore,

Paining my eyesight like never before.

My fingers seem tired and spindly sick,

Moving with an uncomfortable sort of crick.

My brain pumps with meaningless thought,

Pessimist and misery wrought.

My ears ache from every sound,

Even the silence is unpleasant to be found.

My mouth burns from the things it’s said,

Wishing my tongue was something to be shed.

My heart makes no beat in my chest,

Pumping no emotion – Not even blood, at best.

My soul is ripped apart by this horrible disease,

And I have a notion that this is something only Death can relieve.