Depression

I have been all over and under board with depression during the last 20 years or so. My wife, the most beautiful Catalina, could tell you way more than you want to know about my naked, sheetless dark nites. My Dr. used to call me an enema, no wait, an enigma. I have a young friend who deals with our subject matter on occasion. We're writing about it, he and I. During the last 10 years or so, I came to the conclusion that mine is brought about by a broken soul. I'm not living the life I really want to live. My soul is correcting me.... The correction is the depression, it is a call on the red-line, straight from my soul, screaming that shit is not working!!!#$!#$!@#! For me the pills were a way to ignore/medicate my soul, like Black Velvet and that slow southern smile. My soul would not have it. I have a very strong soul. We won't talk about how strong my mind or breath is. Anyway, depression is very personal, and the only productive time to talk about it, is when it is not in the room. Below is a poem I wrote over the past few nites, nudged on by my young friend, and my old friend Depression. Hey, not every post is a blast!

The sword makes one cut
one diamond edge
for days and weeks
it bleeds like two
blood is blade's work
creating this frozen moment
suffocating proof
of loves denial
Rejoice, your soul has removed the gold sword
of depression from its stainless sheath
and taken blue aim at your brown bullshit
one more time
Again I say rejoice and welcome your truth
lay naked and know you will breath again
when this cutting work is finished

[Pic found here.]