59/2023

The disease imbalances my chemicals,
Walks silently through my
House in the dark, lingers in corners
& behind open doors, in sharp
Angles wood creates against
Lonely walls, hypotenuse to the isosceles,
Static geometry for ill
Minds & nightmares, & scatters
#Shrapnel of depression into obtuse
Pathways of my brain, where
I journey through sleep worlds
Where missiles explode. Awake,
The demon flees, but fragments remain
When it hurts to walk & talk & feel.

R 28/02/2023 20:30

The original version, which I wrote while waiting for my acupuncture session, goes like this:

The disease that imbalances my chemicals
Walks silently through the corridors of my
House in the dark, lingers in the corners
And behind open doors, in those sharp
Angles the wood creates against the
Lonely walls, hypotenuse to the straight
Of the isosceles, static geometry for ill
Minds and nightmares, and scatters the
Shrapnel of depression into the obtuse
Pathways of my brain, where I, outwardly
Asleep journey through other worlds
Where the steel of the exploding missiles
Draws too much blood for me to fight
Back with technology I don’t have. Awake
Then, the demon flees, but fragments remain
When it hurts to walk and talk and feel.

R 28/02/2023 11:15

I don’ty know which I prefer. Probably the second.

A bug landed on my day job day book just now. I didn’t have the heart to kill it, so I took it into the bathroom and escorted it out of the open window.

I hasten to add that I’m not particularly depressed right now – it’s just a poem about the bad times.