Depressions Grip

Dark silver forest, in where he looms,
Lost little souls, on which he consumes.
His hair of jet black, His eyes of deep red,
His entire body showing, scars that have bled.

His clothes are tattered, sharp blood craving teeth,
Circles around his eyes so black, a taste of blood so sweet.
If you stand to close, or you walk on the edge he will glare,
Find your hidden secrets or sad past, and he’ll use it nor will he care.

He’ll scratch your past open, and put you in hells view,
He wont let his sharp grip go, he wants to ruin you.
But he might let you go, and you’ll have scars that remain
You will feel relieved but still feel the mental pain.

His grip.. Depressions grip is so hard to forget
But don’t be ashamed, its common, we can learn and reflect..

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