Depression #1 (A poem)

It’s not sadness.

Its an abscess

Oozing goo,

That tastes

Sorrowful

Seductive

Addictive.

-

There is nothing to mourn,

Bemoan,

But the mind

Shifts at shadows

That twist

Innocuous images

Into plato’s

Midnight cave drawings.

-

It’s not

From a pain struck,

Leaking a pipe,

Flooding the feet,

Where you fight

The rise,

Repair the wound.

Replace pipe.

-

Its a tsunami

From nowhere

Crashing shores,

In search to validate

Its own

Existence.

Defending

It’s destruction.

-

It’s a drowning

In what’s believed

To be

Deserved,

Where each

Bubbling breath

Slipping to

The baby blue

Soaked surface

Belongs to others.

Earned

By others.

Where the sinking proves

The lungs unworthy

Of breath.

-

Falling

To the floor,

Far below

A choppy sea

Often seems

The simplest solution.

Experience says

If you wait it out

Not weigh it down,

Eventually

You will float back

To be tossed exhausted

On the rocky shore

Where air exists

Like oceans don’t.

-

And its over,

Until it isn’t,

Again.