Tastes like sweet old depression

Keep busy,
at all cost,
keep busy.

I busy myself with more than one life.
I don't want to have time to think.
because when I do, it's usually bad news.

I dance, I read, I write, I run,
anything, as long as it prevents me from thinking too much.
For when I do, it's harder to keep the shadows at bay.

I made choices,
good ones and bad ones.
They brought me here,
and now, I don't know what else to do,
except to go ahead.

The slightest moment of idleness brings back the memories, the doubts,
The feeling that I waste my time, which is already too rare.

I know those shadows, that always lure somewhere in the dark.
They're good old enemies.
I can rely on them, they'll always be here for me.

I keep my distance with those I like,
For I don't want to be a burden,
For I don't have strength enough to do better.

Lately it's been harder to get up,
harder to get the job done,
harder to convince myself to go ahead,
to put one foot in front of the other.

The numbness started weeks ago,
But in the maelstorm of events, I could hardly feel it.
Now it's here, and even breathing seems painful.
The voices are stronger,
they shout, they argue.

I write so I don't stay curled up in my bed.

It tastes like sweet old depression.
Hi there, Ô my dear old enemy, my oldest friend.
I suppose I'll have to walk with you.