What if depression is a place?

It would be nice to decide where I go and when

I often do, and then I wake up here again

Is it a failure on my part that leads me back here?

Or is it pure proof of the reason we steer?

The solace in solitude allows it to leech

The exit seems blurry and just out of reach

I tighten my grip on the things of the past

Such clutter collects, I’m surrounded by trash

And as time goes by, it laughs, it laughs

Now even as it looks a lot like my room

I know it's a quantum existence for fools

The exit is not what could be called a path

But instead is a shift to a lesser empath

A focus on futures, acceptance of past

So for now I believe that I'm done with this place

I'll go to somewhere I don't want to escape

And remember the way to get out of this place