We, the daily sufferers of depression
watch the splendors of this world behind glass
and know what can be had
and know what we can never have
our worlds are forever separate
unless we can bridge that gap
and then we're miles behind
in preparation, and must adapt
when our senses are blind

We, who are depressed
we see the veins of gold ore running through the hills
we see the shards of crystal jutting from the rock
we the the elk and bison and sheep and cattle
we see fields of wheat and sun pouring down on wildflowers
but there's nothing for us to eat
no meat to fill our carnal needs
no treats of the mind to fill our hours
no warmth from the sky to keep us from going mad

We, who are depressed live imprisoned
with visitations occasionally
from a man calling himself normality
seems like a jerk to me
gives us a sneer and a pat on the back
and a hearty 'good luck' slap
and all we can do is sit back and cry
there's no fighting back against
something that is part of you
something that grew old as you did
and learned to survive
and even if you want to kill this vine
which saps your strength and dulls your mind
change is slow, slower than the light from
distant dark stars
it seems it's on its way one day
other times the time flows backwards
and it seems a million miles away
and I look at my plastic bag and my rubber bands
and just sometimes,
I think there must be no other way.