on depression, and the repressed desire to stay connected -- how gray is this wall

The words of encouragement which you write
are a whispered song behind a wall so tall and wide, so tall and wide.

I see you through a fog, thick and dense. This place of isolation,
this bubble of unfeeling, is not my permanent residence.

(I tell myself this, with the sincere pat on the back)

I hold a knife to my own throat, I choke.

Oh, I've got something to share, believe you me.
(I laugh, as the words slip out my mouth, slide to the floor)

What a joke!

Just tell me this, how do you save yourself when the hole you've dug
is so comfortable and warm, and the wall so tall and wide, so tall and wide?


--bruised orange