Dark Poetry
Desert Depression
A Perpetual Storm
Grey clouds begin to mourn
Their tears gather on Earth’s skin
Forging lakes in beige cities
I walk past the concrete shore
All traces of life have vanished
Swept away by the gale of sighing crows
Lightning strikes, a phoenix rises
Only to fall dead from the fumes
Another life lost to the gamble of emergence
Disability is hard. It is after all, by definition, debilitating. Living with my mental illnesses and fibromyalgia leaves little room for stability in my day-to-day. Inconsistency is the one constant in my life. It’s also the thing I detest the most.
I long for stability, but that isn’t my life right now. It won’t be for a while. I am trying, but it often seems like it’s not enough. I inevitably fall back into depression or mania. I stop talking to people. I stop writing. I don’t even read. I don’t bathe. I get lost in my [maladaptive] daydreams and disassociation. I swear there are days when I spend more time in my head than I do on Earth. Then I come back. Defeated. Because I didn’t win the fight. The [maladaptive] daydream happened. The disassociation happened. The depression/manic stint happened. When I return I’m bruised and battered. Dazed. Left waiting for the storm to reappear. And for me to revert to nothingness. Still, the sun has got to come out sometime….right?
AVG
