Depression is a
beast that makes you think that you
can see the future.

"I surrender to despair.
Nothing will change anyway."

Eighty per cent is
genetics, and the rest is,
she guesses, bad luck.

She wants to shout at someone.
This mockery of a life.

Breeze through his window.
Sound of traffic and people.
They don't know a thing.

How much he would give to walk
outside, and not die inside.