He was a train wreck
Occurring right outside a
vacant station.
No one heard
the endless succession of carts
hitting each other
like waves
or the roars of a burnt out engine.
Every single time he jumped
hoping that the fear of falling
and the dream of flying would both carry him to something better;
the weight of It held him down.
It was heavy.
Like storm clouds
or the news of a lost loved one.
If gravity were a hideous creature
It was the worst of them all.
They always said it had a cure.
All the same as how a smile could cure a broken heart;
the same supposed situations
that we all knew to be fables really.
The thing about it
was it's incessant reminders.
If he ran at this very moment
in any direction,
carried by winds and stars alone,
he would meet it at the end
with a cynical grin and long awaited hug.
If you're caressed by a demon
does it still feel like an embrace?
And that's exactly what it was.
A nighttime friend
with a habit of "sticking around" longer than any of his "friends".
It was a shadow of the boy
he used to be and better yet
a remnant of the boy he prayed
he could abandon.
All the while mom and dad said
that all he had to do was talk about it to the plain faced lady across the room with the soft voice and clinical eyes.
The one that treated him like a building block in the way he looked exactly as those before him and those that would follow.
And as for the white little pill
handed to him like a hero in
an 80's film,
well It had battled many of these before.
And like the true villain It was,
It always had a way of winning.
A poem about depression