Depression is the ragged shard

Found in the rags and waste

Humanity has long forgotten.

It is the slice that draws blood

Without the cut of skin

Without the telltale bruising

It is the soiled newspapers

Days old but somehow still relevant

Covering the loneliness of the forgotten

It is the vestige for the victimless

The last step off the plane

Returning home from the wars

The feed the frenzy

It is my comfort.