Outlooks of Depression


If I could discern
the gears of fate and time
perhaps I could see
a happier future
than the crystal ball of thought,
cloudy and smoke-filled,
frightens me with.

But sad knowing, perhaps
will cement
a sadder reality.

How strange that ignorance breeds
fear of knowledge
and uncertainty
fear of stability.



Waiting for hours
The prisoner of fears paces
Squeezed between walls and plastered posters
Meant to threaten and negate
All the beauty of the world drained into slogans
Monochrome beasts, fanged and sharpened
Any visitor speaks softly like a ghost
A trick of wind
The inmate cannot hear who entreats him
And the friend cannot see his walls


I did not know depression until it robbed me of movement. I shutter my windows against the sunshine, thinking it too loud, when before it would have been a welcome invitation. I find myself lying in bed for hours, drifting to sleep, waking and drifting again, letting dreams coalesce like sand in a shaken bottle, settle deep into my psyche. I do not look too long into them; their bitter conclusions present themselves as truths. Even in dreams, my mind finds no relief. It only combs cobwebs into a great mass, sad glimmers, a heavy egg sack on my heart.