seasonal depression.

I want to exorcise something that isn't there.


that big, empty, hole...


How can something barren be SO heavy?


Half baked and vacuous attempts at lightening the load

with ink. or paint. or a faceless stranger.

are becoming nightmarish.


I am a careless bull in a china shop.

Screaming my insecurities into the void

waiting for an echo.






(note: this has been a particularly hard winter for me. I have many things to celebrate. I choose to celebrate my melancholy today)

poem

We’re not dead yet

Winter’s grip around my neck

Is starting to melt…

And I can feel those herniated discs

Slowly retreating.

November, December

You did nothing to comfort me.

And you can fuck yourself.

your ice paralyzed me.

January, February

Determined and with muscle

Was the only way to escape you.

Now March into April with me.

What was once soft

Like a porcupine’s belly

Is akin to a turtle tummy.

And I don’t care.

Spring flowers will soon bloom.

Robins will eat worms.

and I’ll cycle again.