anhedonia

he inhabits the tenuous dead space where

ampersands float beyond blinking spots of

daylight, lost in whorls of third eye blindness.

 

he is blasted new from fractious nerve

endings that shoot a thousand tiny deaths

through elements, through cosmic notes

lifted from the songbook of infinite night.

 

he whispers barbs like crude missiles tipped

with toxicities, hemlock drips

                                   drips from open wounds

sutures torn, clawed by the talon of the great eagle

now festering, wings clipped by heated blade.

 

he spits crude ganglion, tumours malignant and

caustic, self imposed loneliness, not self imposed

not self imposed

not self imposed

not self imposed

 

he is right

he is wrong

he fills veins with mercury, boils bones in hessian

sacks, sucks marrow from a straw, shifts and shimmers

until dawn.

 

he is bested by spears of laughter, hope forms

swords and shields in bright light no shadows

                                                                  

                                                no shadows here

 

then smiles and love and smiles and love and smiles

and love

 

he sinks his emerald claws into my neck

 

and love

and love

and love.

 

◄ the moon

so kiss me, hold me and eat me ►

Comments

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Stu Buck

Wed 28th Sep 2016 00:48

thanks harry. its a delicate subject and i am glad you found it sympathetic. i take great encouragement from your words so thanks again

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Harry O'Neill

Tue 27th Sep 2016 23:24

Stu,
I once had to visit someone who after a determined - but failed - suicide attempt endured this condition for seven whole months...It is on a different plane completely from what we call ordinary depression.

Assuming it is not about yourself it is a very sympathetic attempt to express it. (the spacing between the `drips` and
the repetitious isolation of the three `not self imposed` works well.).

The patient recovered into a bearable existence by means
of electric shock treatment

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