*please note that this was written for my english class, where our professor wanted us to take an emotion and make it tangible and realistic for our audience. I embraced the challenge of the poem, and wrote what I believe to be an equivalent of depression. do not be alarmed, this isn't based off personal experience* The cover of night and the shadows envelope me. Physically and emotionally I belong locked in a closet, which was exactly where I sat. The hospitable darkness and gloom didn't object my arrival one bit. I wanted to cling to the shadows; I was trying to embrace a passionate emotion, but was it the wrong one? My hands were preoccupied anyways. A dull set of crafting scissors in one shaking hand. The other fisted up tight, tight enough to feel my nails biting my palm. The pain of an edgeless blade is not crisp and clear; it’s thick with jagged edges. Any attempt at not crying was pointless and futile. I didn't cry for the smooth under