(11.4.19 sos)

I don’t speak
My shaking hands reach
For something to fiddle with
Only to be drawn back
By the fear
That someone will take it as a sign
That I am not healing
But they can’t know
If they did
What would happen?
Just when you think the wounds of your soul
Are beginning to scab over
The wave comes
Drowning your hope
Recovery is exhausting
Depression shadows you
It does not show mercy
It saps every ounce of energy
From your being
And steals your laughter
And as you feebly fight back
You fear you may be one of the
Who don’t make it out

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