My depression is made from:
the cold tears that run down my upset face,
the feel of failure as I cut my leg in the school playground,
my sad memories in a grey cloud as it drifts above me.

I found it:
beneath the soil as my lazy body stumbles over it,
squeezed on the edge on the curb beneath the serrated stones and finally;
suffocated in an empty crisp packet, littered in a bush.

My depression can:
break a heart made of steel
destroy a bond of trust and friendship,
can ruin even the strongest of imagination.

If I lost this
the disrupting demon would posses my weak body with pride…