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It’s different for everyone.

But much of it’s the same.

Hopelessness and despair.

As we circle the drain.

It’s an illness they say.

But it hides in the dark.

Invisible to many.

Causes others great pain.

It’s a master assassin.

A torturer in chief.

Chooses not to discriminate.

When it strikes at your soul.

They fill you with pills.

And ask you to talk.

As though this tames the lion.

That rattles your cage.

For some it does pass.

It waves them goodbye.

But for me when it’s silent.

It’s just playing the game.


If you liked this then please try some of my other poems at the links below.


Shoes and Socks…

My Kids

For You…

This post first appeared on Phill Slater, please read the originial post: here

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