The hollow, tired, expressionless eyes say it all. “Attention! Emily has left the building.” When the Cymbalta came in with their billy clubs to kick the headaches out, the headaches took Emily too. They hogtied her and put duck tape over her mouth, carried her out with all their other belongings. The Cymbalta was too proud of their victory to notice that the space they cleared was nearly vacant. The depression still lingers. It was in the next room when the Cymbalta broke up the party. The depression makes it self at home, turning on the TV, the volume blasting, spilling it’s drink and food all over the carpet and furniture. It will clean it up later, if it ever does. The windows are left open so later, the headaches sneak back in. They throw Emily back in the closet, to shut her up. No one can hear her muffled screams. The Cymbalta is long gone. The pain is back but there’s no one to care.

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