poem ab my depression pit

Rats and Roaches

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I hear them crawling in the walls,
Scurrying on the floors in the halls,
It doesn't matter what I say,
They'll never leave, they won't go away.

I see them now, every day,
With eyes of black and fur of gray,
I watch them scuttle across the floor,
There's nothing I can do anymore.

I can feel them creeping into my bed,
Scratching at my feel and biting my head,
I try my best to shoo them away,
But they won't listen to a thing I say.

I can smell it, the smell of death under the bed,
It comes with the squeaking and pools of red,
I clean and clean, but there is no change,
It doesn't matter anyway.

I accept the overtaking of my room at last,
My fighting spirit was just a phase that passed,
I look a fat rat right in the eyes,
And reward my new captor with a final prize.