Something Is Rotten In Denmark

I feel the many slender and icy hands of depression threatening to enclose me. They start in my belly but they re working toward my throat. It is almost like being caressed by an abusive lover. Shhh, it seems to say, and strokes my self-worth, my motivation, my dreams. It is old hat: worn, therefore comfortable. It is familiar. It slips on like an ugly dress I have too often used for events I hate to attend, fitting too well, pushing to my nose the fact that it knows my body and I... Something Is Rotten In Denmark
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