Sunday 29 May 2016

The Face of Insidious Darkness

My name is depression, invader of minds,
proudly producing plan-strangling vines.

I sow seeds of guilt, doubt and fear,
procrastinating in everything, even the dropping of a tear.

Discouragement is my claim to fame, I wrote the Ugly Game
I might get dressed but it won't be pretty, make-up and accessories look at me with pity.

My occupation is destruction with a phD in lies
feeding into a rapid, emotional demise.

I'm irritable at best, showing passion in anger,
leave me alone and I increase in languor.

I live in isolation, keeping friends with anxiety,
I hurry to do nothing, nothing without worry.


I paint pictures of impossibilities,
giving much thought to relational atrocities.

Evading sleep unless it's in a bed of nightmares knee deep,
heavy-hearted,  leaving one only to weep.

I am rich in loss and clothed in sadness,
ever reminded of fossilized gladness.

Chewing on the past, the flavour is gone,
just as stuck with each new dawn.

I'm left in the dark, far from the light
for if people see me, they run with all their might.

I sneak into places I haven't been invited,
feeling esteemed when grief is ignited.

Rejection is the crown I wear
having no reserve to help others bear:
Failure