Depression's Prisoner

An inkling slithers from beneath.
Tis always after feeling fine
A subtle weaving through her toes
A substance that is thick as slime.

Refuses to accept she does
that darkness isnt far away.
A hue of charcoal looms above
"You're mine now child" she hears it say.

Flat on the ground, her face in mud
She feels a heavy weight
Upon her back, She cannot move
She is the feast upon his plate.

Always hungry, full of greed
He feeds upon her fear
He munches anger, spits out love
And from her peephole falls a tear.

She knows what next she should expect
A tugging on her ankle bone
And right on cue appears it does
And down he pulls her to his zone.

Oppressive is the journey down
His slime is pasted on her skin
Her red hot face is quenched with chills
At this late stage it's clear He'll win.

This mock canal of birth spits out
Her limp and lifeless constitution.
But still her freedom is not hers
And she can think of no solution.

For days and weeks she lives in darkness
Drowning in despair
And yet each day she allocates
some precious time for prayer.

She pleads with God to save her
He's the only one who can.
She reaches out into the darkness
And feels Him take her hand.