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DEPRESSION

He opened his gaping heart
All the wounds of hurt young and old glaringly stared
Maliciously festering, sipping vitality softly and unnoticed
His whole being feeling septic and pigmented
People called him yellow because of emotional jaundice

No one knew he was in pain
Self-inflicted some inflicted by others
He feared no one could understand, not even his mother, 
They believed he was born coy and meek
He wished he could unleash his fire but he felt powerless, helpless and hopeless 
So he kept it to himself even though life was oozing out of him fast
Kept it all in the closet of silence wrapped in the cloak of darkness that he seemingly held dear
Believing the cloth kept he safe once all life was out of him 
Finally, he secured it behind a seal of broad smile

Yes! He was sick
He knew it but he did not want to be called mad
For sick he surely was but mad he was not
He knew he could be cured 
Without cure was the after math of the cure which is his family doubting his wits
He was sick like many others
And his sickness had driven him to a million thoughts
The worst of them was how he could exit the earth without causing anyone pain
Because it pained him to cause pain

When I said to him,
“I understand your 
For the first time he opened his chest of mortifying treasure
Bitterness  shame and self-blame
And worse
Thoughts and need for death playing in symphony in his mind
He admitted to me he was in pain and he needed help
So we began the journey to recovery

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