When Asked 'What Is Depression?'

it's the monster living in the coffin,

created by the bodily obstruction

of sun rays,

a reflection-less fiend

so unkind as to not feast on blood,

instead,

on delectable joy,

on tantalizing sun rays,

on buttered flies in the stomach,

on savory, hopeful dreams!

sinking its fangs into them

watching the color fade

as they become gray illusions of grandeur,

soundless flicks of movies past.

immune to silver bullets,

it chuckles at stakes and churches and even

the almighty sun rays!

deceptively crumbling into dust

when one thinks the orange star shines brightest,

that's when the monster is at its longest;

lurking,

lounging,

lusting,

lingering, 

serpentine,

scheming, 

shadowy 

slumber.