There is something intelligent about an animal that only considers it’s next meal and contemplates when and where it might next sleep. The irony is that that intelligence wouldn’t be recognised as such if it wasn’t for a species such as us to be stupid enough to consider all of this in the first place.
I have possibly posted this before. I admit here openly this is not a poem written today, but was written last year. I’m struggling at the moment to write a poem every single day of April. I’ve tried prompt words, nothing is coming. I’m creatively constipated. So I figured I’d find an old one.
Hearts transparent in the crevices of our smiles
Those who know what to look for
Always find
The sorrow lurking behind
The laughter in their eyes
Humour is a bridge
Over sorrow
Transcending us through the waves
Frothing grievously at our feet
Trying to drown us whole
We laugh at the stench of our morality
Becoming clowns in our own rights
Casting illusions over doubt
I am the ghost in between these walls
I write and write
I writhe and writhe
I cry and cry
I scream, I scream
I shout, I shout
I have an entire ocean of
Doubt
I feel so much
The earth could crack under the weight of my feet
From the pendulum that is my heart
Swinging to defeat
I’m the invisible man
Everyone has another
Explanation for
The lights keep me company
Reminding me of eternal darkness
Inside
Indicating to turn left
A dead end street
Those minor notes
Ring in harmony
With the static, on my mind
Kissing smoke
With blue breath
As the moist air
Steals us from death
Mumbling with doubt
Replenished with that quivering lip
Biting back feverish wit
Lest we say the wrong thing
I almost hesitate
Now that I’m in this place
All the sick faces
Looking at me
I just want to run away
“Why are you putting yourself through this?”
I know I’ve been waiting for years
And I don’t want to go back
But I don’t really want to be here
I just want to leap straight
To the aftermath
With out all of these medicated plans
I’m tired from barely sleeping
Thinking about it
Wondering if I can make it through this
Feel like I’ve walked under another dark tunnel
And I can’t yet see the end
There are lights on the ceiling
But that all seems meaningless
They’re dully lit anyway
And the faces around me look like ghosts
Reminding me this is a place where souls come to go
“Go on!” The axolotl says “Pull my legs!”
“Why, oh why would I do a thing like that?”
What a cute little beast the axolotl is!
“Pull my legs! I grow back limbs!”
“Back limbs? Why do you want limbs on your back!”
The axolotl is always smiling.
“Do it for science,” Says a womanly voice, the sound of a goddess it must be!
“Holy Moses!” It’s the Anglerfish.
No goddess, just fucking terrifying!
“Can’t you see the beauty in my sharp, sharp teeth?” She grins
But what other expression could it have been?
“They serve a purpose I suppose, there is beauty in that.”
“But you said there is no purpose.” The axolotl said in its sweet little voice
“No grander purpose,” I reply
“Only the purpose of now.” The Anglerfish added.
I quite agreed, but it tormented me, “But that’s the problem.”
“What is?” Axolotl asks
“It leads to this thing we call hedonism, and that isn’t necessarily any good either.” I frowned in thought
“ If you’re looking for something, pull my limbs!”
“What would that achieve?”
“Nothing. I just really want to show you my party trick.”
The Anglerfish sighed, “I create my own light.”
“The human species creates light, but we sacrificed the stars. They’re seldom seen, even at night.”
“Damn!” The axolotl said
“That’s very sad.” The Anglerfish agreed.
Calloway pushed the blade further into the ground with the step, leaning his body to use all his weight, “ya know,” he started, grunting, “what your problem is?” a cigarette bobbed up and down between his thin lips as he spoke
Max watched the blade cutting into the earth, “What?” He asks, arms folded.
“Ya still holding out for hope.”
Max cocked his head to one side, “Having hope is my problem?” He scoffed.
“Uh huh.” Calloway grunted and leant into the handle, “Let that hope go, boy.” He flicked ash onto the earth beneath his feet, embers flickered orange and then gave up.
Max disagreed, shaking his head. “A bit of hope is what a man needs.”
“Nah, Max.” Calloway let the shovel drop down to the ground with a thud, and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, “We all die in the end.”
“Morbid.” Max rolled his eyes.
A flicker like the embers from his cigarette sparked in Calloway’s eyes for a moment, “What do ya think I’m doin’ ‘ere? Digging for goddamn gold?”
Max looked at the hole Calloway had been digging and sighed with irony.
“The world needs the hopeless.” Calloway drawled on, taking a swig from his bottle of water.
“The world needs more hope, that’s what it needs.” Max said adamantly.
Calloway waved Max’s words away casually, “This world is just a big cosmic joke.”
“Well I for one,” Max dug the toe of his shoe into the ground with an irritated kick, “think there is something more to all this.”
“Something more? Something more than what?”
“Than this!” Max gestured with his hands open in front of him, signifying everything.
“You know why the world is a cosmic joke?” Calloway asked, picking up the shovel again and heaving the blade back into the earth.
“Because it’s all a big accident, blah blah. You’ve told me all this before.” Max faked a yawn.
“There is irony everywhere.” Calloway said matter of factly.
“What are you on about, Cal?”
“There is more hope to be found in the hopeless.”
Max scowled, “That makes no sense!”
“Exactly.”
Told myself I was okay
But now it’s too late in the day
To espouse such nonsense
When I know in my heart of hearts
I don’t want any of these things
Nothing. Not even the guitars
Or the TV.
I don’t want the music playing
In my ears
I just have it on for noise.
I don’t want any of this
If you wish to feel comfortable, you should first seek discomfort.
If at all it could be said that there is a key to life, it is on simple thing: Contrast.
Contrast is the only way we can have good things, so we must endure the bad.
But what is most painful about depression is not the contrast between your worst and best days, it’s the indifference that is torturous. A prolonged indifference that can go on for days, weeks, months and even years. Or rather it is an indifference to the good things, the silver linings, the comforts. A sense of pointlessness overwhelming the senses.
Contrast is like oxygen to a stable ‘happy’ mind. But what if your brain just isn’t responding to that oxygen? What if, for prolonged periods of time the only contrast you have are in the different hues of bleak dreary, blacks and greys?
Yes it’s true that even bouts of depression don’t last forever, but it feels like forever. And they bouts last long past their due.
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