Depression

What is there to like or share

To hash or tweet or tag or tear

In abject dark despair?

That world between worlds

Has a lot to answer for.

The life unlike-able

Is most un-shareable.

 

A face has withered

From the page, And no birds sing.

Yet the house is twittering down

Around itself:

 

Soup, cold soup

Coagulates

As I wilfully write my way out.

 

© E.C. Richardson

 

 

 

 

 

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