These days
I spend
a lot of time
not exactly wanting
to die
but just
to be dead, maybe,
to rest.
There's a difference,
or at least
there used to be.
I am regret.
I am self-defeat.
I think about
thinking
more than I
used to.

I guess Depression will do that to you.

My body hurts.
Aches, actually.
It's constant.
In my head,
dull static
But louder.
Thumping rhymically.
Like, really ******* loud
all the
******* time.
Things are heavy.
My arms
weigh far too much.
My lungs
are concrete.
They pump
stale air.
My spine is sawdust.
My spit is mud.
Didn't my eyes
used to be
more blue?

Depression is an ******* who will do this to you.

My words
used to be sharp
and loud.
Electric and
strange, they
tumbled out
of me,
like machine
gun fire,
a swarm
of bees.
Now I have to
pry them
loose, carefully
like teeth.

Depression is mechanical and it's systematically destroying me.

i like the see feel needs
the hands and
the **** maybe.

i like the sun you hot river a.

i like the by your bank cheeks,
tween the fists of Spring an' Summmer.

i like the to hold your mouth
closely tight
with my hands
and in your hair playsome
grasping an' pull.

i like the splitting of your flower to bleed.

and i like how when stillness completely is your body.

i like(and i like you)and i, like you, am

love.

Breath in deep through the nose
out through the mouth
repeat to beat this cold sweat
has the room stopped spinning yet?
speed it up
maybe you had one too many cups
last night you got pretty tight
pretty wired
too tired to worry about being tired the next morning
smoking **** as soon as you got home's the reason you're moaning
feel the room go all vertigo
and clutch the **** stained toilet to your chest
flip that face to give the other cheek some cold tile love
but don't fall asleep in here
your alarm clock is in the other room
do you need to puke, ****, or ****?
you know you want to puke it out
cleansing expulsion of ****** fluids
decide to say ***** it
weave your way along the wall to your bed
fall don't flat breath rasping and rattling
like the firing up of a Gatling gun
close the eyes
and let the spins take you on a downward spiral
wake up and take six advil
the night always tries to steal the sun

first love,
in whose body
my soul is made,

                                  the whiteness:
                                  your crisply
                                of
                      ­        scent
                            is like
                          when
                        parts­
                      the long
                   night
                     budding
                        the crimson
                     tooth
                   of
                       dawn
                    'pon
      
           the edged back
           thinness of
           mountain hair


(growing fairly towerish
it sprouts
as sprouts the sea
the freshest breath of life
to take by inimitable quavering
the softness of mind to depart
knowing

                      and kiss into

           the sweetness of darkness      (



                                w
            ­                     h
                                 ere

              sleep is
              nice
                              and
        
  ­                  comely wilting snow
                    on the blade of heat
                                     '
                                     ;
                                     .

.





                                                                                bruise,

                                                                              the pressing of your skin
                                                                              is hurting to want
                                                                              to want hurting
                                              
                                                                                       in you to hurt

                                                                                to want

                                                                                 to hurt you

                                                                                  (  the pressing of your skin,


                                                                                       bruise          )

There are white streaks
in her hair
on your arm
in his blood vessels
between the lines I say and don't say
below the dark sea
above the "you" and the "me"
See them or don't
won't you unveil
prevail
re-sell this vision of adulthood
with all it's woulds and shoulds
with all it's white streaks:
where you are just a "hi"
and I am just a good "bye"

You
       are
every missed
con    nec    tion,
every
pause
I didn't know
how to fill,
every ship I
sent out that
never reached
its designated
shore. I never
really had you.

I look at my mother
my father
photos of grandparents
****** structures change
clothes
hair

but the eyes
are always the
same.
sad.

but strong.

it makes me think,
is my crave for the blade genetic?
is my darkening depression
running through my veins?
am I fated to be this way forever
by the DNA I've been given?

and if that is so

if all the bad in me is just
genetic makeup
is the good in me the same thing?
the kindness
friendliness
all just programmed
into my mind?
am I nothing more than
an unbalanced
unfortunate
bag of chemicals?
can we find the strength
to diminish the bad
part of human instinct
or were some of us born
to fight a never ending war
of self destruction?
do we even have a choice?