Week 27 - Depression/Catharsis

I drink to write.
I write to my drink.
black and sweet
it swirls around
the muddied glass,
a sip left on my lower lip.
I am across from you,
you and your beautiful body.
I take off my shirt
pout at you,
bite my lower lip
and widen my eyes.
I feel your hand on my back,
drawing me closer,
I see my reflection in your eyes
my luscious breasts pressed together,
hair dark and thick,
sadness in the arch of my eyebrows.
I see you ache for me,
so I lean over
and place soft kisses on your eyelids,
cheeks,
nose,
filling you with lust and love.
You look at me,
look deep into my ridiculous eyes,
don't even realize that I am right there with you.
I am simply a warm wet body,
a thing of flesh
of smells
of softness.
In desperation we reach for each other,
and after
we lay down to sleep
in silence,
backs touching.

****************************************************************************

I am a shell
of the person
I used to be.

There is a growing darkness in me
and it's swallowing me whole,
this chasm,
this black hole
absorbing all the light.

It's no one's fault that I'm this way.
No one's fault
that I lay here
unable to move,
thoughts racing
bouncing up down around and around
until all I can hear is the
pounding of my heart,
rendering me unable to sleep,
to think,
to breathe.

I will keep this shell until I find a new one.
I will stay quiet,
mourn in silence.

*********************************************************************************

Defend the sacred
in you,
around you.

I am not so good at that.
I lie back
and let him have his way,
it's not his fault,
I want it
I think.

It is confusing
to figure out what is affection
what is attention
what is lamentation.
I cannot tell grief from relief,
I need help please,
can someone reach out
touch me
and make me feel alive again?
Can someone reach out
and make me feel sacred again?

*********************************************************************************

Sometimes all I have is my favourite shirt,
so reluctant to take it off,
I wear it five days in a row.
The comfort in the fabric,
the way it feels on my skin.
It is my armor,
my protection
against the elements.

I am alone,
don't you see,
so alone,
there is no one here but me.
And I try to reach out
and I touch glass,
realizing that I am inside my own world
looking out,
no one sees me anymore.
Isolated, alone.
I made my own bed,
I lie in it,
there's no one here,
not even God.
This is why I wear my favourite shirt
five days in a row,
maybe it's all I have left.