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RESIDUES OF DEPRESSION
Your weathering palm
sprinkles
grimy, gritty, sullen as coal
loosely scattered by your
very presence
or lack there of
I kneel 2 bear witness
oily 2 the touch
if rubbed between two delicate fingertips
bitter 2 the tongue if tasted and
taken aback by the nostrils
like the first clean whiff of the opening of an
ammonia bottle
as painful 2 the chest cavity that houses the heart
and abdomen when laboring of kidney stones
I high pitch screams and
mortal moans
while writhing in disdain
trying 2 rid my being
from these
Residues of Depression
I can certainly relate to this poem. I'm medicine for my depression/anxiety. It only goes so far, though. I hope you deal with yours in an effective way and continue writing about it. I find it's one thing that helps me channel my energy and away from going back to self mutilation or at least for now. I don't know, but good luck and God bless.