The Malaise Theory of Depression
The lies we tell ourselves
tinted in private colors
create intricate maps, instructions
to hold us against our will
or better angels
upon a designated course.
They creep into our
chemical soup and wiring
thickening trickery
truth becoming shadow.
Rolling downhill so easily
scratches, contusions, bleeding wounds
unacknowledged in subterfuge
"It's such a beautiful summer day."
We say, etching out smiles,
even crinkles of the eye.
Alone, in the dark, troubling drea…
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Posted on January 13, 2009 at 6:50pm —
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