The Choice Poem by Mr. Handsome

If happiness is a choice, did I pick this instead?
Of all the choices, did I pick to be dead?
I select it so often you could say it's an obsession,
To be mauled by this beast some call depression.

Wounds of my past presently threatening my future.
The brief Hope and Jubilation, now a torn suture.
The wounds of a love once fought,
Infected with despondency begin to rot.

Were it a limb with which I could depart,
But how can one amputate a heart?
Two treatments left for this situation so dire,
Have my heart frozen to feel no more, or risk new love set it on fire.