A small group for depressed Christian men

And then I brought the whole group down
With just a few words spoken.
Down to the ground –
The joyful mood, broken.

What if I told you I like to do it
To steal their joy away
Not just on these special group nights,
But each and every day.

The blues are one big infection.
Spreading through the crowd.
They like to be soft and private
But I like to speak them aloud!

I like it when they don’t know where to look:
Shifting, nervous with a frown.
I like it when their temples ache
From only looking down.

Don’t look at me, you supposed friend.
No each wouldn’t dare the thought.
It helps if I look sullen –
So not a smile is caught.

Remind them they should be grateful!
Of their jobs, their cars, their wives
Remind them that you have nothing
But cuts from self-inflicted knives

It’s a depression competition.
Looks like I’ve already won!
Time to leave, they say with hope
But we were having so much fun!

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