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?