so naturally I wrote a terrible poem about it, which I will share now in the interests of bumming out everyone I know.

Pashte with Depression perched on her head

Me and my anthropomorphized depression


the prison of my heart

hope is a thing with wings
that’s what someone said
but in the prison of my heart
behind a door colored by iron
it is a flower
pale petals framed in thorns
they hold it steady
roots running deep
they creep and seep
the life and breath from me

love is a thing that sings
that’s what someone said
but in the prison of my heart
behind a door covered by rust
it is a silence
the eye of a storming symphony
in which I stand
while hand in hand
they take the songs from me

joy is a thing of light
and everyone can see
but in the prison of my heart
behind a door hidden in shadow
there is a maze
cold onyx walls reach up and up
so high, so high
into this clouded sky
and take the light from me

The good news is the fact that I summoned enough energy to write the damn thing means maybe I’m getting ready to shake this latest bout of the mopes.