antidepressants, that I am not
some war that bereaves you
of your fix, your stark face blots
purpling stains under eyes glued
to the buzzing of insects by your lamp—
a light that catches a reflection of
their veined wings clear; like veins tamped
in brown, the black tar shoved
into your limbs, into my heart
the idleness in your eyes and pace
of your feet dragging, they impart
me of your glass maze chase
of mirrors cracking like teeth, a scrape
against each other, shattering to escape.