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Depressed—fighting silent wars,
Demons whisper through the pores
Of my thoughts. I try to stand,
But the weight won't leave my hands.

I'm not done. I'm not yet through,
But it's hard—what can I do?
I’ve got to fight for sanity,
But it's draining all of me.

Only midday, yet I’m bare,
Empty lungs and vacant stare.
This is more than tired breath—
This is what depression says.


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