depression
is an ocean.
at times, it ebbs.
at others it flows.
forever it endures.

depression
is a dead tree.
ripping apart wilted
leaves, adrift
in windswept currents.

depression
is an ant hill.
fit to burst
with activity, but
simultaneously stationary.

depression
is a sword in a stone.
wrest its hilt
to no avail, the blade
remains buried deep.

depression
is a melting glacier.
worn thin by
global warming,
wilting in enervation.

depression
is you and me.
living in the same town
now, but somehow
distant as dimensions.

over six hundred thousand seconds
have passed since i heard from you
ten-thousand-some-odd minutes
have stretched between now and the moment  
your name last illuminated a digital screen
a hundred and sixty-eight hours
since we bid each other adieu
one bleak week weak-kneed
beneath the guillotine of agony

and though i'm still far from immune
i've started ******* poison from the wounds
siphoning the anguish you left in an absence
perforated with melancholy spells
and existential hells that leave me
writing poetry at 3:00 o'clock
in the ******* morning
mourning friends who became lovers
only to turn to strangers once again

am i expecting too much of you
does the blame fall squarely on yours truly
or do we share this guilty burden equally
if it takes two to tango then certainly
it must take two to kiss but
patriarchy has me questioning
everyone and everything
most of all me
wondering if i ruined our fragile unity

but if i know one thing
it's that your lips gushed when i brushed them
with my fingertips and i still hear the faint gasp
as you begged me to dip within
inviting me with your breathless panting catching
like sugared candy on the tip of your tongue
intermingling with the sticky-sweet scent
of sweat and ***
you whispered my name as you came
on a moonlit drive home and held my hand firm
like it belonged inside your contours

i'll set my phone back down on the pillow
where i wish your head laid beside me
and pray to a god i don't believe in
to break insomnia's grip so i might slip beneath
a comforter of dreamless sleep
only to wake and find your name
displayed prominently beneath
the time and date

i still remember the way
your fingertip traced
the Deathly Hallows
tattooed on my wrist
writing the word
Love in cursive script

we built a palace of palms
while our arms laid a foundation
flying buttress knuckles
and stained glass lips

your hand
was the first church
i felt whole within
and for a fraction of a second
i almost believed in god again

maybe it's just the fact
that your eyes remind
me of nebulae but
i guess i just thought
we'd burn out like the sun

5 billion years on
before bursting
shattering supernova
undulating amidst
the Milky Way

but lately
we're nothing more than a solitary match
sputtering in the eye of a hurricane
flickering with hardly any fuel left
'cause this crisis has blackened our blood
and i couldn't seem to find
the gasoline to pour over this fading flame

so i'll scuttle this life-boat and set myself adrift
silently waiting to capsize
the old adage is true
the captain must go down with the ship
but our hands were interlocked
on that steering wheel
so i suppose it's only fitting
that i named this vessel after you
i'll sing your favorite tunes
as i keep sinking into this bottomless
trench of sleeplessness

we were both willing to
ram our Titanic into the glacier
if only to kiss the contours
of ice beneath the surface
the secret we hid from one another
pulling us with the magnetism of the planet's poles
a knowledge subliminally submerged

"i said i'd never let you go and i never did"
but Houston
we have a problem

and while all things end
i thought we'd go down
like the Challenger
erupting and scattering
bits of fiery debris across
these broken homes
sprinkled like memories
of Florida theme parks
and forbidden rooftops
and the corpse-blue cornfields of Iowa
illuminated at midnight by the halo
of all your Marlboro cigarettes

i didn't think
we'd spend
all these years
pretending
to still be friends

Katniss
chased catnip
across the carpet
of your Lamoni home

each precious pounce
sent you
into fresh
waves of giggles

left you
clutching
a paisley-patterned pillow
tightly as a life preserver

you were
transfixed
by a kitten's glee
until i met your irises

our fingertips
brushed
and we both felt
a chasm grow between us

in silent agreement
we looked our separate ways
lost in fractured
reminiscence

if i **** myself, will i wake from this dream?

a half-remembered reverie floating
at the periphery of my anxiety.
will death free me from ennui?
will my final breath
bring me liberty
or will this life be but the passing
of one ship too many on a moonless eve?

if i **** myself, will i wake from this dream?

the doctor told me to
swallow a fistful of pills.
whatever you say, doc.
i've been striving for lucidity
so i might achieve some measure of restraint
a way to constrain the hellscapes
when i drift unconsciously
listless within my psyche.
can i project my whims
into the astral plane
to attain a degree of peace?

if i **** myself, will i wake from this dream?

endless possibility rests
just beyond my fingertips.
to soar serenely
over lavender mountains
past fields of magenta glass.
magical realism birthing infinite possibility
from the labyrinth of night-terrors.

if i **** myself, will i wake from this dream?

it's been said
that if you dream of falling
and you reach the end
you won't wake up ever again.
but my deja vu is transpiring endlessly
as if i was trapped in an abyss spanning eternity.
am i caught in a vacuum of space-time?
am i adrift within a void?
am i going through the motions once again?
the doctor told me to
swallow a fistful of pills.
whatever you say, doc.
repeat. repeat. repeat. repeat.
...
is this a dream?
is this the real world?
am i already dead?

if i **** myself, will i wake from this dream?

the Florida sun and i
baked your memory
into the bricks of Winter Park
i built a home for you
amidst the concrete and stucco
off Mills and Thornton Avenue
outside a crowded little tea-house

we'd read our poetry out front
to choruses of snapping fingers
well after dark
before driving aimlessly
through Orlando streets
with a melancholy soundtrack
keeping us fixed firmly apart

i'd lay my hand like a fallen palm frond
well within your reach
praying to a god i don't believe in
that you'd tease the ink staining my wrists
with your pinprick fingertips

i remember when we
sat beneath the pine trees
i tried to look into your eyes
but the windswept clouds
drifted listlessly
and for a moment
i was blinded

i could've sworn that there
were constellations
where your
irises ought to be
a nebulous Andromeda
hurtling eternally

so send me a sign
through earthquakes
and light-waves
that i don't belong here
pining