a poem about depression. does it ever fade or will it ever get better? the blue of the sky and the blue of the river and the blue i feel aren’t the same in shade, but maybe one day i will find it a little easier. to live. to exist. without feeling these pangs of emptiness, of sadness.
Happy is foreign on this tongue,
bleeding out softly against a blanket
of gold-drenched skin,
gleaming like stars beneath sunlight.
I cut it out of the sky and try to fit
it inside me, fill the empty
bullet holes from the past eleven years.
It’s the year of choosing myself:
the first act is therapy, for the third time.
Maybe this time I can carve the sad
out of my body like a turkey on
Thanksgiving, yank out the meat with
my bare hands, all bloody and dripping.
Body too empty with losing parts of me,
I poured gasoline into my stomach
to feel the burn of being alive.
A barren soul with brown soil eyes,
the colour of dirt and loneliness, I
emptied the sky of its blue of bliss and
held it between my teeth. It’s lodged
between the spaces of my ribs,
sinking into a ghost town.
The blue stains my teeth and tongue,
a splash of stars glittering in daybreak,
a feathers weight settling.