Tag: depression

after Falling Into Place

An accident is difficult to plan.

You lose people; close friends
become distant, and strangers
seem more familiar.

You can decide how, where and when.

You lose touch; who you are
and who you’re supposed to be
blur until you can’t see.

You’ll crash and spin over.

People lose you; unnoticed
strings chain you together
and with you, they suffer.

You’ll be found and cared for.

They will wait; until you see
them once again, they will stay
by your side and each day after.
Continue reading “after Falling Into Place”

Empty Spaces

The sky seems grey even with clear weather
and the sun screaming its perfect day.
The clouds drifts past fast but the air
seems stale having lost its way.

Deaf-tone birds sing monotone tunes
in jagged rhythm while trees tower
leafless in endless ordered columns.
Droning about after every hour.

Motionless still, what is there left for us
if there is even any that’s left of me,
or of you, or of anyone not yet dust?
Where do lost souls go to be free?

Caught between prisons, we hone in on
empty spaces inside each other as home.

A String and Two Cups

We throw our feelings around like whispers
along a string and two cups; in garbled sound,
we sing of sweet nothings and swerve around
what loud troubles and traumas we hold dear.

We’ll play pretend as rattling cups become calls
to whomever we find willing to lend an ear;
but we’ll lie and make our hell seem much better 
than the journey that’s now like an endless fall.

With hope—or rather the lack thereof—we pull the string
and wait for a pull from the other end. With hope,
we put a dismal cup to our crying ear to cope
for the emptiness we find absurdly suffocating.

And even with the string taut, there’s deafening
silence between two lost souls simply waiting.

The gift of creation

I’ve seen many worlds, many realities;
varying rules and magic that define each
and the multitude of links and chains that tie
me to every single one. In mind. Within reach.

They are dreams but as dreams, they can be
nightmares too. Claustrophobic walls of the mind
shaping each fabric that I inhabit. Fear, despair,
anxiety; locks without keys—just chains and binds.

In however much the many worlds can fit,
so too must all endings play. In as many
door closed, books ended, journeys done,
so too a new one found and just as many.
Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt

Afterwinter (n.)

When the first bloom colors the canvass of snow,
it calls upon the angels’ hymn; oh winged
delight, come sing your mirthful bellow.

When more hues paint the scene of winter,
snow becomes rain, and white green;
but hardly any sun, comes afterwinter.

Not spring rain, but utterly bad weather.
Not the warmth after cold, not the smile
after sorrow. Unseasonably cold and somber.
Na/GloPoWriMo Prompt

No Escape

The waters are flooding in and there
is no escape; the current is too strong
to fight and prevail. It’s hopeless and
futile; to have stayed until now was wrong.

When the water was low, that was the
chance to escape—to get out and save
yourself. But waiting and hoping someone
will do it instead—that’s foolish, not brave.

Now, it’s too late; the door had blocked
it before but when you opened it too late,
the water was too much and flooded in.
This day marks the end of your fate.