(Sometimes my anger rages sullenly,
simmering pointlessly, steaming my insides.)

Depression angers me.

They should dump us sufferers
in some third-world travesty
where wide-eyed children lie
with starving, distended bellies.
Soon-to-be skeletons.

(and you anorexic girls would fit right in -
without temptation your tummies can grumble
to your hearts' content.)

Then give us orders
and move us from our beds of pity
as they cannot move from their famine,
their disasters. Muscles too weak,
money too scarce.

I despise my paralytic apathy,
my self-obsessed depression.

(but edited on typing up)