I have been
In my bed all day
Watching the sun cross
A thirsty sky
Soaking in sunlight
Like my brain soaks in
The nightmares that lurch and writhe
In the wrinkles of my bedsheets.
I have been trying to
Drown myself
In a cocoon of white
Two week old cloth
And the empty echo of my mind.
Depression is quite literally
A hole
Which you have to claw yourself out
And my body has impressed its depression
On my bed,
On a place of rest for others.
When the tungsten lights seep through under the curtains
My bed turns into a bottle in which I drown my sorrows.
Strange thoughts fill me
Of white thunder and ravaging claws instead of hands;
I am sown together with the fabric of nightmares.
My mother calls my name
It is a distant sound,
Like some long forgotten calling
Across a sea
And yet I reach a feeble hand
Through time and space
For an epiphany
Before falling into a tormented sleep,
Only to wake in the same bed
As the same person.
Rinse and repeat.
It has been
Six days
Six weeks
Six years
Since I felt anything
But a hollow absence of me.