A.Windowcleaner

Someone at the door

Perishable skin so frail and thin
There’s a knock at the door don’t let them in
Don’t think of what might have been
Don’t let them in
It’s a shadow of a man tall and thin
Across his face a wide grin
He is not a friend or member of kin
Your life is not yours but his to take
Your idea of happiness is all fake
When he’s here my body aches
A psychic snap a mental break
His name depression
Destroying people is his profession
I’ve become his possession
There’s no hint of self expression
I’m gone.