Thin Ice

Dear Depression,

Are you enjoying yourself?

This is another day.

Why can’t you just leave me!

You rest on me like dust on an unused bookshelf.

You bring nothing but distaste; I wonder what it must be

like to have a speck of flavor light up my tongue.

Leave me to waltz on the thin ice the world likes to call my brain.

Your ways of torture leave me,

clawing at the air.

But the thing is, Depression, it’s impossible to get air.

Depression, you pin me under a thousand blankets, you throw me in a raging sea.

What’s your problem?

You force my ears to drone out everything within distance.

You force my eyes to glaze over.

You force my tongue blind to relish in feasts.

You force my nose to lean a cold-shoulder against the budding roses.

You force my fingers to be covered in calluses so that I am not phased whenever I trace my mistreated thigh.

Why can’t I live?

It’s tiring, carrying you with me everyday.

You’re an ignorant child who knows no discipline.

I know that your favorite thing is to kiss my cheek, to make me shudder with cold.

What’s your favorite pastime?

Is it to sing off key?

or, perhaps you enjoy breaking the thin ice covering a gentle lake in winter,

dipping your toes in the chilling water.

The thin ice that the world calls my brain.

The water that my heart knows as pain.

Please, I beg of you, make your home invisible.

I don’t want you anymore, and you are so terrible that I would never wish you

upon anyone or anything.

Let your disappearance bring me a happy ending.

But when you go, promise the water undisturbed and calm the ripples.

Whisper your goodbyes, and freeze the top layer twice as thick.

You, hollowing Depression, will never rock my quiet lake again.

         Never your’s,

                        Emily