In This Garden

You’ve been trying to stop your demons,

but like weeds they wrap around and constrict.

Over and over again.

They leave you alive but dead inside.

All this time you thought they were your friends.

You’ve been choking on words,

it’s like you’ve got a noose around your neck.

You're trying to tell someone

about your sorrows that seem endless.

Self-medicated

Intoxicated

You don’t know

Depression has clearly blinded you.

You clearly can’t see.

You can’t see that you’re as beautiful as a rose,

to everyone including me.

As time goes by it seems all too clear

that in this garden the flowers never bloom.

Though I still have hope,

it seems to me that you’re withering away

more and more each day.