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Category: Depression: Severe

  • Birthday

    I’m dead with dying There is an eye I refuse to catch I was born with knowing I look and I listen and I discern I know You’ve caught my eye I’m not God But I know Tell me everything The bile and the filth and the worst, pour it All that will be left…

  • Waiting

    She came into my life the year your father left. They breathed the same air in my world for 3 months.   For 3 years since he died  I’ve been waiting on profound insights. For 18 days since she died I’ve been waiting on profound insights. Now I get it.   There aren’t any.

  • Just because.

    This Medicated Lady is thinking irrationally again. Irrational because. I’ve been considering a diet consisting only of those flavored ice pops especially the blue ones the ones I like the least Irrational because. No one but me looks forward to a psychotic break Irrational because. It occurred to me that I’m tired of being medicated…

  • swallow

    I swallow a deep sob because some things are best swallowed. That’s not dirty, swallowing. Take it down, your medicine. Kind words make me sad because I can feel the hard edges of them. I can feel the tenderness of my own soul, and I wish I was just a hair harder. Which makes no…

  • Stones

    Consider it written in stone. The stone at the head of a non-descript grave at a non-descript cemetery on the outskirts of some field in the middle of nowhere. Here she lies. This is how it will go. Tomorrow, there will be tears. Tomorrow, there will be a long, sad drive home and an even…

  • Go Quietly

    Neither of us will go quietly. That was obvious from the first. Her moans and denials and fight are only restrained by the liquid morphine that courses through her veins. She will not go quietly.   On the way to see her. On the way to see her for the last time. I did not…

  • Dying a Death

    The last words I’ll ever hear her speak are, “I’ve still got fight left in me.” Or maybe, “I don’t have no fight left in me.” I distinctly heard “fight left in me.” I asked her how she was.  Dry: “I’m great.” Floated back into her morphine dreams or nightmares. Later, when I was alone…

  • Found Out

    Most of the time, she fancies herself unstable but really, she is just incompetent. Really, she’s just a fraud. Really, she is just addicted to feeling sorry for herself.   Today, she would rather sit and stare at the stone-colored zipper on her fleece jacket than anything else, besides sleep. She thinks about how she…