
I’ll admit it. Depression must be settling in. The sadness has quietly crept into my clothing and then into my bones, until I’ve become used to his company. I snipe at little things, take offense, wallow with despair, I want to reject this feeling, but I am too languid, I need some form of interjection. But my mouth, my tongue seems far too fat and lazy to conjure itself into the words, Leave me alone; I don’t want your company, because his is the only partnership I can envisage that’s making me feel so utterly lonely even when surrounded by those who care for and love me. He’s like that tight, oppressive, unwelcome sweater that you try on from years earlier, to see whether the style still fits, still suits you, and you realise that his sizing is just not right for you. And you can’t throw him off, emotional you become, engulfed in the face by years-old musty scent, from the attic my depression now becomes, he suffocates, I panic, I try to escape. It seems too hard though, to throw this sinister, insipid being off. © 2020 Lauren M. Hancock. All rights reserved. Image by Ulrike Mai from Pixabay
YouTube Poem videos: Lauren M. Hancock Poetry
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