Three months have passed by
since the last time.
And when the young man thought
"there's no possible way, it could get any worse"
the cosmic powers that be, scoff at the challenge.
For him, the inner battle of depression had remained constant,
occasionally coming and going,
offering a reprieve here and there.
Unfortunately, it had been doing
a considerable more coming than going.
Then, as one tired cliche goes,
the straw finally broke the camel's back.
Tourniquet coiled around his bicep,
tied tight enough to control circulation,
so the veins can pop out, as if screaming
"pick me, pick me!"
Once the needle tears a hole in the skin,
just like last time,
everything in the background fades away,
nothing seeming real anymore,
just slipping further and further away.
And again,
just like last time,
only to be dragged kicking and screaming,
back to reality, coughing up
remnants of dinner in big, meaty chunks.