punchdrunk on the canvas

i have put up
a good fight trying
to keep from falling
into the abyss
gently caressing
my tired cheeks

i could feel it
swirling ever closer
when my eyes opened
and i slid out of bed
and into a hot shower
hoping to fool myself
into feeling some
sort of contact besides
the tendrils of
ecclesiastic doom

robotically made
a pot of coffee hoping
caffeinated sunshine
would infuse my
tattered strips of
torn tissue paper soul
with enough to fight
one more day

somewhere on
seventy five
going five
as the cars
zipped
from lane to lane
racing to be
a single car length
farther into the
parking lot
the futility
embraced me
and i let myself
slip into the
arms of depression
once more

it was pleasant
the anxiety
the sadness
the confusion
all sliding
from me like
droplets of rain
down the windshield
as frost formed
in tiny crystals
a hoarfrost heart
no longer beating
a glimmering
new ornament hung
from my ribcage
with careless abandon
and now it is
the fucking weekend
two days of
silent despondency
shifting from
the couch to bed
a relentless
restlessness
in frozen disdain

depression isn’t
feeling sad for no reason
it is feeling
nothing but the
pointlessness of
fractured existence

it is home

One thought on “punchdrunk on the canvas

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