Dreadful

I can’t drive past a dead animal splayed and stinking on the side of the road in the summer heat without thinking of you. The tang you’d left behind inside your apartment is no different than a fucking stupid deer, rotting; we’re all animals, after all. The similarity is incredibly depressing. Makes my mind wander

Happy Wives Bake Pies

The sun came begging again at my doorstep; I turned him away. Got no use for gods at play. Too much decease has grown me up. I am weeds, immune to disease, and I only live in order to survive. But to what end? So questions Depression, mine. Depression is the paparazzi— always trying to

For Only Me

  Every day it does reign, a perpetual decrescendo— melancholic melody made for only me.   Deluge of disquiet comprises choral pessimists repeating in my head. Depressionist percussionist beats heart that’s damn near dead. Dirges designed for only me.   But! Though it does reign—my melancholic melody—I seek the one to share an umbrella.  

Catch a Chronic Illness

If you don’t have a chronic illness, I suggest you find one, grab hold of it, and hand over control. Life is much simpler when you have something legitimate to blame. If you feel like cutting out of work early, your illness is the best excuse to walk out in the middle of your shift,

Anxiety: a trivialized disorder

Too many people are unsuspected of suffering anxiety and depression. My daughter is a kind, helpful, happy, talkative young woman. She’s a pharmacy technician, so every day she interacts with patients, both face to face and over the phone. My girl is brilliant–everyone LOVES her. I’m a proud mama. Despite outward appearance, Nicole is an

Real at 2 a.m.

I like to be awake alone at night. Perhaps it’s a preference inherited from my mother. Can preferences be inherent? Any smarty-pants reading this post, feel free to comment the answer below; however I do know the answer to the broader question unasked. So, maybe don’t bother commenting because you’ll probably just piss me off. You

Give her pain to me

In the night she cries. Writhes. Into her pillow, screams. In the night she dies– part by part, her heart does die. Tell me what to do, please. How can I take it all? Give her pain to me, please. She’s too beautiful, kind. In the night she cries, and I die part by part.

Who ordered the crazy?

  I am no stranger to the breakdown, Florence– I lose my mind in varying degrees on the goddamned regular, it seems. prepaid predisposition See the predicate? Please identify: She hides in the shower. Cry, cry, cry. No one can hear you.      

Lies Anxiety Tells Her

“You’re not smart enough,” Anxiety tells her. On a good day, my girl, she knows better. But something will happen– Something must always happen– Ill happenstance Hungry Anxiety pulls her in tight And my sweet baby believes Anxiety is right. Lost in the terrific maw, her heart rages Against the ugly, hateful, deceitful mirages– Against the

No Friend of Yours

Asked the glass woman, “Who are you? You look familiar, like an old friend.” Answered I with flesh mouth, “I am no one to you. Let’s not pretend.”