Stuck in the sludge of the now, I possess no energy

for anything other than burrowing in bed from seven

o’clock to the next seven o’clock. My depression is

an all-day affair, a calendar filled to capacity, gridlock. 

I let the knots in my hair feel at home. It’s hard enough

remembering I still have a body in need of tending to.


I wish the Internet had answers for how to love properly

in spite of the fact that my brain is trying to poison itself.

It’s tough not to feel like I’m contaminating you, sadness

being a potent venom seeping through your skin. Or if not

the Internet, maybe God, or my mom, or the books I read.


Does anyone know?

Paging the universe! 

Calling the vast unknown!

Is anyone there?


Is it even possible to keep you safe 

while falling into the dangers of myself?

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