I push them all away
It's better that way
Or so I keep telling myself

Who wants to get in the bog with me?
Who will wade through gray slush and sharp thorns to get me?

To get me out?

Will I even let them?

I'm where I need to be, I know that
It's hard to explain the meaning of deep rest
To let the soul be suspended in the nothingness

Depressed
Waiting

I know I will get out, as I have many times before
I know it takes time, for the soul to rest
The deep rest, that's so hard to explain

But feels welcoming in a way
Like in the midst of winter
Everything rests, waiting for spring
As does my soul

Depressed