Your best friend, Depression.
Today you are dancing with your most loyal friend.
time slows down, and you are stuck in the midst of a twirl,
a pirouette, a spiral, as you see him, the gray man, in the windows again:
his black hole face expanding,
Taking all of the air out of the room.
You welcome him inside.
if you don’t he will continue to stare at you, waiting;
it’s the waiting that drives you crazy,
tears you up,
so you let him in, and he embraces you, flipping off all of the light switches.
And your body is made of lead.
And now you’re left feeling like a wet paper towel again.
when you stare into his emptiness you wonder why
he chooses to visit you, out of all people
you wonder, why you, when he could have his pick of the world.
You wonder if you will ever see the sun again.
You are sinking.
you are watching oceans of nothingness roll over you
filing away at your edges until you are just a particle,
A fragment,
a shard of glass, broken off of the memory of who you were.
He is sandpaper, you are ground down.
This is your monster.
he visits as often as he pleases;
sometimes you get months of blissful normalcy
sometimes you only get minutes before he reenters the room.
Sometimes you miss him.
And always, in his wake, your hands are burned.
you are trying to put pieces back together again,
peeling hot glue off of your whitewashed palms like dried skin;
shaking fingertips holding up the only part of yourself he left behind
you stare at it, knowing that the only thing you can do is hope
That he leaves a bigger piece next time.