Depression has no face
but,
it has a name.
No one lives to tell
The moment before
The blade fell
From scratching and cutting
Too deep
Where only blood and Jesus
Lay, weep.
Your soul pulls from your body
Like helium from a balloon,
No sooner turning onlooker laughter to screams just for you, stranger
Attention- seeker.
Your blank open eyes
Reflect their cupped faces and gasp:
Your silence was not golden, but bitter and dark.
Depression takes the face of the victim he claims,
With finesse.
Yve's Corner 
So haunting, my gifted friend. I am thinking of you with a LOT of love.
I continue to be astonished by your perseverance in fighting what I call the “evil shit depression”! You’re truly incredible.
Xoxoxo
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Powerful, beautiful, heart-wrenching poem. God & I love you, as does Dyane and so many others, including your husband and sons. Jesus knows your pain. Many of us have known the hellish pain of severe suicidal depression. Easter is a time of rebirth and renewed hope following seemingly unendurable pain and darkness. Remember the hope it holds out. Have faith that the darkness will lift. This too shall pass. I love you, Yvette.
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