Two hours till work on Monday. Depression is lurking, quietly. An unfulfilling job, no escape. The end of the trudge? When?
This tunnel of despair, the lights at the end, they were not. Instead deceptions, each and all, as they dashed my hopes.
No more of them to see. Now it is just the darkness, and the eternal trudge, at least it feels that way.
I'd rather run and hide, than go face the world, but I have no choice, I have responsibilities.
Perhaps, in some hours, I'll feel better, I hope. That's the normal way, that this day goes.