Tag Archives: depression

Ariadne

Ariadne, golden thread,

when I was left in the labyrinth

to be devoured by The Minotaur,

led me, through the endless halls

and lightless days and awful cold

and the terror of the beast

back up to the light, back up to

the sun, and the warmth of summer,

away from The Minotaur’s devouring.

Golden thread, alight and golden,

shown in that bottomless pit,

through the catacombs

as I shivered in that bitter bleak,

as the fear of the beast hunting me,

the fear of endless dark in it’s belly,

to hold onto, thread through shaking

hands, and follow back to the sun,

to warmth of daylight and life in bloom.

Ariadne, standing there, as I came out

of the pit, that bottomless pit, holding

the end of the golden thread in her hands

hands that let it go as I emerged, and stroked

my face and wiped away my tears, and raised me up

and showed me the sun was still there shining,

and that the beast had not won, The Minotaur

had not taken my soul as a feast, that I was out

of the darkness, and it all could be wonderful again.

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Blue, My Favorite Color

The train rocks and shimmies and shakes,

and it almost lulls me to sleep, half awake,

like an infant in her mother’s arms.

No lullabies.

The brown townhouses, the little yards,

lights on in second story windows, life,

like tableaux for my god like eyes.

I am not godlike.

The Atlantic, I imagine cold, gunmetal gray,

and deep and as empty as the sky above it,

which will, perversely, be blue and bright.

Blue, my favorite color.

I sit on the beach, the Atlantic Blue, eternal,

and not a cloud in the sky, I drink iced tea.

I finish it, go under, lost like a drop in infinity.

Cold water doesn’t feel.

Childhood Jungle

James Agee Park, ragged and scraggly,

is not the childhood jungle of the playground

of my elementary school, hemmed in by

wire fencing, enticing with it’s mysteries.

It’s 3 am, and still hot and humid, without mercy.

So few stars, but there is rocous laughter,

loud music, raised voices.

I drink iced tea I bought for a dollar.

I might be here till morning. I might leave in a

minute. I’m waiting for the nerve to go,

or for aliens, the fey, or angels to take me home.

For anything to change.

Few stars roll above me, but they broke their promise,

their light did not show the way, and holy writ cut out

my innocence and lust, so I could be a better consumer.

I finish my tea, and crush the ice in my teeth.

A light blinks in the sky, moves strangely, almost drunkenly.

Maybe the mad bastards or the alien bastards have come,

or it’s just an out of reach wonder in a bad, sleepless night.

I remember a past love, and hold the memory fondly.


A Ritual For One

The dead of night without dreams.

Sleepless, sitting in a darkened kitchen,

drinking piping hot coffee, looking out

on the street lit only by sickly streetlamps.

The demons run riot, kicking up a stir,

though I may look calm, and dead eyed stare,

out at the quiet world that gets to rest.

The demons always run riot, never let me be.

The coffee is hot, and harsh, and bitter,

and it keeps me connected to this world,

and it’s alkaline pleasures and hard touch.

A simple thing on a sleepless night.

A ritual to get through, as reverent in it’s

banal steps to make something I don’t need

as any religious ceremony, made for communion.

A ritual for one, who is not even a supplicant.

Maybe for a moment, just a moment, there is

quiet and the demons winding down to gnaw

on a pleasurable memory or a tender place so sacred.

Maybe I can distract them with some anger or bitterness.

Soon, the day begins, and I put on my smile and laugh

and go through it all again, as the demons ruin everything

and nothing sacred stays in my heart, and the devil beats

his wife on a sunny day, that is just a well lit rainstorm.


A Face In The Sky

A pretty dream, a face in the sky, my love.

                              A pretty dream, the face turned, love lost.

                             

                              This car isn’t much, but it goes fast enough.

                              The drink makes me numb, deathly quiet.

 

                              Let it end, by the sea, so I can disappear,

                              To the depths, the dark, the place perfect.

 

                              I let her down. I cannot win. The Devil will.

                              I’m tired of fighting myself. I’m tired of madness.

 

                              There he comes, flashing lights, coming for me.

                              I’ll make the right wrong move, and I’ll be gone.

 

                              Pulling over, one last pull, I can leave forever,

                              For the dark and warm place, that’s only silence.

March To The Sea

Waiting on the train station, a drizzly dark winter morning,

               Heading to work before the sun comes up, but at least it’s quiet.

 

               Lucky people sleep peaceful and with someone holding them.

               Lucky people find a measure of peace in this world.

 

               My mind is dead and burning, nothing rising from the ashes.

               My heart cannot feel love anymore, not even for her, who I hold on for.

 

               I shiver, out of the rain but not out of the cold, and it’s an endless march,

               To the next day, the next morning, that never comes with a promise of relief.

              

               The train horn howls, the lament of a repentant demon, forever tormented.

               I’ll go to work, I’ll smile and be happy on the outside, I won’t let it show.

 

               I refuse the siren call of laying upon the tracks, to let the demon take me,

               To just no longer be here, because if I’m not here nothing hurts anymore.

 

               I’ll get on the train and soldier through and do my duty, the good son always.

               How can I hope for peace of warmth, when not even tears will come, just the rain?

 

              

A Cigarette Lighter

The pills can’t fix it all. Only make me able to fake a smile.

               It’s still always starless twilight in my useless dreams.

               It’s still trying to outrun things implacable and hungry.

               It doesn’t go on and off at will, like a light switch, a cigarette lighter.

               I can’t just love this world.

 

               Somewhere the child remains, but he is buried so deep and dark,

               That the days have all turned yellow like old photographs,

               And none of that joy has stayed close, or felt in echoes from October.

               She kissed me and I felt nothing. The greatest desire impotent in rage.

               She kissed me, and the gamble fell through the table.

 

               The mountains hold spirits unclean and always welcoming.

               The ruins of ancient kingdoms and swallowed infancies burn bright.

               The stars shine like those useless baubles in department stores.

               The dark soil is mother’s milk to the returned and graceless.

               The night is some other world, some other love.

Tough Fists

Tough fists shadow boxing in an alley.
Valley of Death, valley of loss, of night,
closing in, punching the dark strips
of the night, unburned by the stars.
 She is sweating, tired and taut, wire
pulled too tight over too far a distance.
The shadows are coming down, eternal.
She might break and snap open the sky.
 Silent, but there are sirens, laughing drunks,
and distant music, and people who are free.
Silent, but the darkness in her head, in her life,
the shadows getting hooks in her flushed skin.
 What can she fight, that cannot be touched,
cannot be lost like sanity and love and passion,
that lingers forever in these nights and heartbreak?
Fighting others in the ring will be over, be won.
 But shadows never leave, only cast back by momentary light.
And light fades, and becomes distant, and leaves us defenseless.
She boxes the shadows coming down on her, on her world.
Never ending, never defeated, just pushed back, for a moment.
 A laugh. A touch. A kiss. But always waiting, always roaring back in the night.

Starlight On The Wind

The road could take us down, down to the sea.
We could talk through the night, for all eternity.
The  road could take us west, to snowy peaks,
where ancient dreams and a soft angel speaks.
The road could take us to paradise, or a calm.
We’d never run out of sun and love, a soothing balm.
You don’t have to go back, I will keep you near.
I will keep you with me, make every demon disappear.

I remember when you were a little girl, so bright.
All love and laughter and energy, always a delight!
I remember the drive to be the best, to be your best.
I don’t know what you trying to outrun, put to rest.
I remember the time spent talking, and planning it all.
I hope I didn’t push you too much, set you up to fall.
I remember the far away looks out the window, traveling.
I don’t know that something was burning, you were unraveling.

 This road could drive us to Fairbanks, or Galveston, or New York.
We could have ice cream or fancy meals with red wine to uncork.
Roadside attractions or historical places, or just drive to the end.
We could find Eden in Missouri, or the starlight on the wind.
Just tell me where and we’ll go, any place that can make you shine again.
There’s no judges here, no crowds or trophies, any race for you to win.
You don’t have to go back, I’ll keep you here with me, fighting torment.
You don’t have to go back, to the lonely school where darkness forments.
 Stay with me.

Stay with me.

 Let’s go to the sea.
 Stay with me.

Watchmen Quote

“I heard joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Life seems harsh, and cruel. Says he feels all alone in threatening world. Doctor says: “Treatment is simple. The great clown – Pagliacci – is in town. Go see him. That should pick you up.” Man bursts into tears. “But doctor…” he says “I am Pagliacci.” Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.”———-Rorschach