Decembers of merry have flown
And have left me with but a clone
Of something that I once knew
But now something that paints me blue.

The cold used to soothe the burn,
And into brightness our red noses turn,
But now it bites into pin-pricked skin
Until it cuts and bleeds me paper thin.

I try to say goodbye to this past year,
'Cause I won't make it to the next, I fear.
But this deep depression is a cycling track,
Of wishing for Decembers and taking life back.

December comes, December goes
Along with depression's overdose,
But when I crawl into bed at last,
I will dream of all Decembers past.