How do I feel in the throes of depression?

Delving into discontent,
dwelling upon dismal loss,
despicable despair is a tapeworm inhabiting my gut,
bereavement burrows, becomes my thrashing buddy.

Stuck in gloomy glum muddy muck,
I am frozen in another despondent dimension,
inhabit this habitat of inhumanity,
rummage through myopic memories that quiver my skin.

Twisted within one’s own limitations
into repetitive confines of one’s own thoughts,
I am crippled by distorted past illusion,
solidified by sluggish calcification of soft brain membrane
into hardened vaporous surrealism.

Fish bone lodged in tightened throat,
knife blade sharpened to fine edge,
I am able to carve my own heart from rib cage,
lay it upon the screaming sacrificial altar.

Though my life overflows with reality of love
bursting the seams of beauty,
I live in miserable conditions,
squalor of dogmatic, dismal discomfort,
intolerant of any possibility of seeing light.

Unable to stretch my spirit into gratitude,
my soul bends into a wretched monster,
a galloping ghost without a galley,
a mislaid lion without a lair.

This bewildering badge is my tattered coat of arms.

Woodstock, New York
October 22, 2010

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