Depression

The windows of her house
are tinted black.
She sits, in her bedroom
trying to separate
facts from fiction.
Simple choices
with complex solutions.
The whispers keep
her awake at night.
They have called with jagged edges
raining down in spiral ashes.
Curious little devils;
dancing with gnarled sticks
they beat their devil words,
into her overflowing ears.
Her doctors bottled rainbows
and fed them to her by the fistful,
trying to banish her edged temptations.
The devils still danced
claiming her soul.
She tries to talk to God,
but she can't form the words
She lays out her pills,
row on row.
Too many, too few
she is not sure.
The bridge crumbles,
She feels herself tumbling
Down, Down...freefalling.
Tortured, insane what does it matter,
There is not one word
to perfectly describe
Depression.