Depression creeps in

like a theif in the night

with thick fingers and

meaty hands-

The bigger the palm

the more of your soul can be eaten like

the leg of a chicken

at a christmas feast.

Soul-juicy? Crisp?

Saisfying.

Depression drains

all the colour-

the victim becoming the hue

of a 1920's movie

in the middle of

modern metropolis.

The black ink of the written word

becomes fainter

and

fainter,

the questions

becoming

sentences,

sentences becoming

tribal markings

and then

nothing.