theft in my head

A thick headache,

a fatigue, that never clears;

the source of my unhappiness,

the source of my tears.

It drains my energy,

it robs me of fun.

My own head works against me;

a conspiracy of one.

It even saps happy memories,

until I have nothing left.

A robbery in my mind;

a criminal theft.

I do often question,

if it’s me, or my head.

But it’s gone on so long,

I tend to forget.

I get up it’s there.

I go to bed it’s there.

It fills my day

with dread and despair.

It’s sad to think;

not nice to say.

Depression feels eternal;

like it steals every day.