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Dear Journal watch

    • Thread Starter

    Dear Journal,

    It’s coming, it is coming
    There is a creature, I can sense it, I can feel it
    It’s dark, its shape undefined
    It’s claws rip at my breast, they chew on every sinew
    Its wicked, red eyes pierce into my very soul
    It’s cold, it draws every atom of happiness from my very being
    I dare not look at it, I cannot look at it,
    No, I cannot. For it is inside of me now
    There is no escape, perhaps there has never been
    I cannot even name it, it terrifies me so
    But I must. I name thee depression, to whom I may still succumb.

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