Retail therapy.

 I ask myself what could this be,
this strange malignant malady,
I know the signs, you've lost your zest,
the doctor said, you are depressed.

I told him how with feet of lead
I found it hard to leave my bed.
Upon a pad he scribbled hard,
then handed me a credit card.

500 a day is uttermost
' we don't want you to overdose'
instant joy, I could't stop
while racing to the nearest shop.

Oppressed by grinding poverty,
the cure is retail therapy,
so now with many bills addressed,
I can pay to get depressed.