Blacked Out Part 5: #blackmentalhealthmatters

Depression:

That unasked monologue meandering amidst my mente,

Suspended silently over a well,

Sprawled across the floor,

Analyzing, critiquing inner corners-

The crevices of my thoughts.
There’s a knife above,

Its blade delicately reflecting light, shimmering colors abstractly reflected.

But I resonate with the handle:

Dull, sturdy, a perfunctory chunk,

Automatic holder of light buried inside a

Weapon.

Am I my own worst enemy, is my brain wired against me?

This one item, encased

In cerebral fluid, at the crux of my musings:

I claw out of the well, clinging to that dim distant promise of reflective

Light.

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