Gloom

Oh, depression, my old friend,

How you love to make me bend.

A constant companion, so they say,

Bringing gloom to my every day.

You whisper in my ear, "You're not good enough,"

And I believe it, no matter how tough.

My motivation, you mercilessly steal,

Leaving me a couch-bound, Netflix-fueled zeal.

You make me cry at the silliest things,

Like when the barista gets my order wrong and it stings.

"It's the end of the world!" my mind will scream,

While I sulk in a puddle of my own self-esteem.

But hey, at least you're reliable, I must confess,

Always there to make my life a depressing mess.

So, depression, you can stay, I suppose,

As long as you let me take an occasional dose.