A Metaphor for Depression

The truth is that I lit the cigarette

And every fictional metaphor for letting death in

From Hemingway to Poe to Green

I was that kid that almost bit it

I am that kid that is lucky to be breathing

I am spending my borrowed days

Pulling cancer through a filter

And asking Death if he wants sugar in his tea

I am eternally slipping through cracks

Hoping there is a different reality in a cement basement

Wondering if there is a god in between my finger spaces

Questioning the taste on my tongue

I am breaking mirrors in my mind

I am afraid that maybe I am the reflection

All of this feeling I thought was my own

Just an echo

I think I am afraid of the feeling you get when you are safe and well

My heart is an empty canon

Maybe my shot was never fired

Or maybe I am buried in someone else’s chest

I hope they aren’t bleeding the same way I am

From the inside where no one can see it

Every poem I ever wrote was nothing but a dream I had

And sometimes I would rather be dreaming

I am floating away on star dust

And I am nothing but afraid

Fearful that someone might remember me.