Depression and Money

Depression and Money

its like this stand in companion

makes me laugh, grants me the opportunity for empathy,

a great substitute when i find the company of actual

human beings to be overwhelming,

the purchase of a book

or some paintbrush tool

or canvas

and lately

im wondering what is the role of pride, and self-loathing

in contributing to awkward and painful moments with

other members of this species, homo sapien made in the image of


Depression, and I spend; and I think im somewhat powerful

over my loneliness,

my acute sense of feeling

as though I am the outsider

par excellence,

a condition I guard with both tooth and melancholic sanguinity;

it’s safer inside the hermitage, the skete, and

im accountable to no one except my self and the internet

which i could be the queen of,

allowing whomever i want into my court and dismissing

by decree of the cursor

who remains, and whose interests I cultivate.

and whose products i buy to make my loneliness more


who I let into my email box;

and nonetheless, I am thrown into the pit,

alas, I must turn away at last,

and sometimes,

i must confront the image

in the mirror

and sometimes,

i must crawl under the covers,

and wonder at it all,

whether it is truly a decision

or a corrupting habit,

that keeps me away

from the person

i truly am.

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