There is a rat <br />I call Depression <br />Inside me, <br />Eating at my innards. <br />The pain goes to my throat <br />So I am choking on my tears <br />My tears of blood. <br />Would that I could <br />Write of something else, <br />Would that I could. <br />And I am so very tired <br />If I could only end it all <br />Looking at words on the page <br />that reflect back to me <br />my misery. <br />And where am I?<br /><br />Fred Babbin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/depression-77/
