Dark

My photos are out of focus.

I can’t stop taking pictures of clouds.

My clothes are getting bigger,

nights getting longer.

I sleep with four blankets

to keep me from drifting away.

And there’s one pillow under my head,

and one pillow over, to keep things out.

Nights are too long,

filled with bad dreams about being chased,

and falling, and turning to stone.

Places with happy people make me cry.

That’s not normal, you know.

I broke my favorite mug.

My hand dropped it,

and the lighthouse

was in a hundred

pieces.  I can’t

pick them up.

I just sit

on the

floor

with

them.

Image

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9 thoughts on “Dark

  1. Like the poem. And I’m not usually one to comment on blogs.

    Depression stinks doesn’t it? [have you read anything by Eckhart Tolle?] Loneliness can also be tough, but sometimes it’s good to be alone with the natural world.

    • Thank you for your kind words, and, yes, depression stinks. I have read Eckhart Tolle, and I do believe very much in the healing power of the natural world. Thanks for stopping by.

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