And all the answers I once had
Are corrupting, bursting, decaying
When did my death take place?
I don’t remember a funeral pyre
I don’t remember a march
Or a motorcade passing my home
I don’t remember pictures on an easel
Flowers wilting on their stands
nor my coffin being lowered to my grave.
Sometimes, we don't realize we're depressed until we look down on paper and see what we've written. Years ago, I must have been depressed for here's the poem I found recently. According to National Institute of Mental Health, "6.7% of U.S. adult population in the United States experience depression," and "30.4% of these cases are classified as 'severe.'" Yet many fail to seek help. How very sad that the majority of individuals believe they must and should resolve their depression on their own.