• My depression covers me. Like a blanket it covers me. Beneath are my real colors but they're hidden. Under this cover they are hidden. My reality, misfigured like the wrinkled outline of a man, can not be seen for true. Where strength would be hope I have none left. Because of that I'll never be able to remove this blanket on my own. Too heavy for someone as weakened as I but it's also leaving me blind. Unable to see my words, my thoughts, my wasted actions are misguided. Nothing in sight but this dark veil, nothing to grasp but my own hopelessness. I am free, at least, I'm free at least to mutter what I will as well as weep for no person can see. I suppose those are my few comforts during these times --as well as wish that one day the sun will rise in my mind --once more