Depression, Harry Potter Style

The boggarts are drawing near

 unearthing each of my deepest fears,

petrifying me in my waking hours

bringing forth horrendous screams,


The lethifolds sweeping ever close

 hunt my place of reprieve,

and in the shadows of dusk,

slowly smother all ways to breath.


And sensing a growing notion of hope

humans must crush all things that grow,

and so we birth a creature so vile

as to drain the life from all we know.


The dementors foster a newfound chill,

that snaps my bones and breaks my will,

hollowing my insides till I’m but a shell

wandering ‘round lifeless in a living hell,


Till what’s left of my soul is devoured,

my mind splintered from trembling,

and my body has vanished in shadow

leaving nothing left for tomorrow.


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