Engulfed in frustration, donning drapes of depression
Burdened shoulder and heavy heart
A continued condition that could tear one apart
Furrowed brow and squinted eye
Haggered but hopeful, continued efforts to try
There has been progress, but insufficient it seems
Never shall these effforts, be enough to redeem

Outside pressures are featherless weights
It’s the internal struggle that never hesitates
To decapitate, dissect and destroy
All that was created with love, care and joy

There is a sickness that just won’t leave
Captivating and crippling, its embedded deep within
Coursing through veins, poisoning each limb
Ambition some call it, passion, obsession
Addiction, affliction, diseased with perfection
Chasing dreams and hunting sucess
It’s true what they say, the wicked get no rest

– thephilotherapist