It’s slow and gentle,
lulling you into such comfort
that you don’t realize you’re asleep
and have slipped under.
Sometimes, it’s white water rapids,
Fierce and violent and
waiting to shove a hungry hand
down your throat.
Sometimes, depression is a patch of thin ice.
It’s unexpected brittleness in the middle of stability
and even though you know better, you thrash
and wonder why it’s still pulling you down.
Sometimes, it’s high tide,
the water slowing reaching out,
ready to cover more ground
and your head.
Sometimes, depression is none of these.
But always, always, always
it’s some place where you can drown.