• Heather Melancholy

    Depression is grey.
    Like a dark, foggy, early morning mist.
    It feels like your trapped in a spiders web.
    Numb, with its venom pulsing through you.
    Awaiting the cold serenity of death,
    So your body can be devoured.

    It tastes like salt water.
    Leaving that unmistakable, bitter taste in your mouth.
    It lingers for hours
    Stinging your mouth
    And conveying a raging fire up your throat.

    It sounds like the crippling scratch of past memories.
    Replaying in your mind like a broken record.
    But you cant turn it over
    And flip to the other side.
    That holds a more sprightly song
    Endlessly waiting to be played.
    So you have to keep dwelling on the same lyrics
    Reciting in your head
    Over and over again.

    It smells like the dust that settles
    On the now cold places we once knew
    And on the down turned frames
    Filled with the faded faces
    of past loves.

    It looks like the tears running down an infants face
    As it weeps in search of its mothers voice
    To come create the harmony
    That will pacify him
    to the suspension of consciousness

    And the longing eyes of the monster
    That stares you down
    Mimicking your every move
    In the mirror

    As you force yourself to get up
    And muster the courage
    To go out into this world of grey
    And face another day
    Of attempted descry

    To see the flicker of a flaming candles light
    About to burn out
    Between the cracks of a morose state of mind
    Before someone extinguishes it.

    Depression is grey.