A poem by Joshua Sponaugle
They say depression hurts… but do they tell you that it takes a razor to your torso and head, filleting memories and feelings. That it kidnaps you from your family and friends and tortures you, even while they are plainly with you.
It tells you you’re unlovable. It knows you want the pain to stop, and offers you awful advice, the most awful.
F*ck the glory days and rights of men from God, I just want to smell a freshly picked daisy again, and to bask in the vivid, beautiful mundanities that we’ve put out of mind. I too have forgotten, but I want to remember. I need something less than reckless vice to awaken my mind’s interest. Yet, all I hear is silence…Stillness and nothing, a disinterested and yet frightening (to the last bit of mind I do have) veil covering all.
What of passion?
Where can I find you, beloved?
I punch holes in walls and scream, sometimes I cry…It’s not enough to find you. What can shake me from this bland and imperturbable comatose? Should fear and worry be similarly vanquished, I suppose I would consider it a drawl. But, fear and insignificance intertwined have made a fool of me.