I find myself followed by the unassailable specter of depression:
A mournful black dog that sits beside me always, staring
And like having a scarf wrapped too tight about my throat
My wrists bound behind my back I lay in thralldom
To be tossed into a river, gripped by the current
And choking for want of air (and movement, and mirth…)
I lay thus entombed
In sheets
Of fabric
And coral, ever
Wondering when
My bonds shall
Be cut loose
Be a bridge
Unto my weeping
So I can cross
Over this valley
Without being snared
By the machinations
Of my mind
And weary heart
For a maiden sits upon my chest and I know not how to move her
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