The black is so deep it's tangible
I can feel it crawling over my skin
It is punishment for transgressions
Just rewards for a life of sin
It seeps into my pores, into my blood
Slowly, inexorably it oozes into my mind
It sucks away all that's bright and shiny
It devours everything in me that is kind
Life doesn't exist inside the hated black
Like a vast cloud it blots out all the light
It colors all of the world like disease
And it hides all of the good from sight
It is but a chancre on the face of life
A vile cancer that all beauty mars
It's disease ridden face all good destroys
It leaves behind nothing but scars
It is a nasty, evil, destructive thing
It attacks all the light, all that is passion
It has a name, this vile and evil thing
It's name is anathema, it's called depression
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem