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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.

N. Alysha Lewis

N. Alysha Lewis is an editor and blogger with author aspirations whose love can absolutely be bought with french fries.

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