When you see yourself through the distorted lens of depression, you have trouble recognizing your own reflection. You can’t see the seam separating your normal self from the irrational being that calls you its host, and shows none of the courtesies a guest should uphold. The lines blur, and all that’s left is a pain that washes over your heart like a malevolent wave lapping upon your withered soul; a pulsating ache that ebbs with the ever-changing tide of humanity.
His self-esteem lies in a fetid puddle
Staring up at him in longing
Wishing to restore its place.
He tries to cup it within his palms,
To drink and in turn reinvigorate.
Alas, like all things in his life
He grimly watched his salvation
Trickle slowly through stiff fingers
As though his skin turned to stone
And soon, his heart followed.
For swiftly the tears of regret
Flow like Neptune’s sea
From burning eyes,
Eroding his grip and
Withering away his heart,
All hope is swept away
With the ebbing tide.
I met her at the crossroads.
She strode in like a pristine petal
Riding easy on a western breeze.
Strands of midnight flowed
Like shadows beneath a straw hat
Framing ethereal chestnut eyes
And a smile like Venus
Able to shatter any man’s guise.