Poem: Depression Doesn’t Carry a Scythe

Creative Commons photo.

My latest five-line original poem.

Depression Doesn’t Carry a Scythe

depression sulked around as the hooded figure
from my dreams, dragging not a scythe, but the
void between its hands, asking me to plunge in;
most days, I dangle my feet like a child at the pool
testing how cold the water is before sliding in.

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