Depression?

Depression.
Real and,
For the most part?
Unexpected.
Never do you take notice until that bottle in your chest explodes,
As each piece of glass ricochets off the walls you’ve built brick by brick.
Never do you feel it coursing through your veins,
Until you’re classified as useless by those you love,
Who’ve grown sick and exhausted of,
You.
Because of how often you walk with your head down just,
Looking for the truth.
A truth holding the power to shatter every wall blocking a point of view,
Your eyes should’ve been fixed on instead of,
Acting like a tool…

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