Style: Free verse poetry.
Statement: The poem in no way advocates for the themes presented; rather, I wished to explore a personal perspective and confront this mental condition that has encroached on the lives of too many. If something feels wrong, hesitating will do more harm than reaching out. Depression does not discriminate.
No number of shot glasses he poured chock full of serotonin would alleviate the sheer depth of that gourd in his rib cage
Seated neatly between folds of marrow and ziplining on nerve endings
was a nothing that manifested into something
Too nothing to extract with the precision of a scalpel and tweezers but something enough to keep his eyes glued on the ceiling on tranquil nights and on sheer heights in the daylight
the miniscule ant-like passerby on antique model streets, the microscopic foam of churning torrents, the familiar burble of the creek over no-longer-jagged rock
Raised a glass to everything that could be just about nothing
Poured too much and let the packet’s contents splash onto the floor around his feet
Shards cutting away at him as they fell
Tiles tainted crimson mixed with a salty transparence
He stared down the sunset and waited for the sun to wake the hell up, only to wonder why he bothered waiting
Was getting harder to pinpoint why he waited when it did not hesitate to leave him sitting alone in the dark days and days on end
Getting harder to pinpoint why he could stand at heights when every neuron in his head wanted him to stop with the shots and realize he belonged down there with everything insignificant
Harder to pinpoint why he had nothing worth getting drunk on serotonin for
To pinpoint the nothing as his story’s antagonist made no difference
So he pinned it on himself instead
Rewrote the narrative for someone forgotten and misunderstood
Pondered, doubted, then promptly erased it
Recycled the sheet in the kitchen’s bin
Closed the door behind him
Dangled legs over the railing
Poured the last shot down and stepped onto the breeze after it
Ignored the sheer heights, the wind whipping at chapped ears
Chased nobody into the depths of nothing to escape
something?
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