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Everything she writes is tagged
#DEPRESSION          

You break my heart, know.
Even with these chemical
bonds holding me together,
these frail spiderwebs
weaving around ventricles,
you shatter them like a
calm breeze, playing child,
a secret told to the wrong set of ears.

The characters in (y)our plays [on words]
are the crux of (y)our matters.
We're all ancillary like stepping stones;
pity (y)our destination begs leaving
no stone unturned.

My stepping stones are tablets, though.
20mg doses of baby steps,
crossing voids like I see in (y)our eyes.
My mouth is cavernous,
my throat the steps to hell
(wide and steep and too easy to trip down).
Each night - a crusade to save me.
Each morning - a body count.
One. Good enough for me.

Each time I sign on - the body count grows.
I have a bad habit if writing poems that are too personal about people I don't really know. This is one of them, so I threw in a bit about myself for good measure.
My time with you is
the first few seconds before
all your flavor's gone.
Less notable
than the day we set still our pens
and let rest our wandering muses
is the day the sun
does not rise.
Even with the mood lighting inside
this lethargy induced spiced chai
I find these things elusive
like good cell phone pictures of concerts
or, dare I say, a happy poet.

Despite generations of artistic indulgence
I find these things apathetic
androgynous, as it were
with indiscernible discrepancies drawing
daft conclusions from the quick-sought eye.

I too struggle to find the truth behind the lines.
I craft as though I know my medium.
I create broad sweeping arcs across
my own right side brain
but see them smudged and distorted, distended,
dripping their dynamics through the cracks in my floorboards.

Cinnamon vanilla maple ginger
shots at first class from coach
and here on my three foot throne
I squander the warmth of my ******* latte.
We perceive the deep
like some siren song
sinking depths below
where our skin ripples
and runs laps around
and around and around
the surface tension
and cool breaking breezes.

The sunken sand and
rusted portholes
don't draw down
the moisture in our skin.
Next to the slowly sloping
dunes of deep
we are a skin-shod Sahara.

We are pulled by and against gravity
because, in fact, the bleak black
crushing back against our ankles
begs for the darkness we hold
shackled out of sight.
The death of the sea finds
the secrets in me
and it makes them it's own
as it swallows me whole.
Being blessed with wings
does not endow you with the
strength you need to fly.
Sometimes you gotta hit the gym if you don't wanna hit the pavement.
When the world is off to sleep
    Your thoughts starts taking a leap
          My desires starts taking shape
                Reality is masked with dreamy cape
                     What a fetish, I wonder
                             You play on my mind
                                    Even in slumber

                                           *Bharti
life and death
        amid breaths
is black or white
        as per your ride
life is a show
          you reap
what you sow
         only lesson
for all to know
          life is a wave
with ups and downs
          who surf it all
always rebound

*Bharti
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