Negotiations With Depression

Switch blade smiles
Mask my broken heart
As we march through destiny,

Cold heat fuels lust,
Turn to dust, been before?
Seen through extremities,

Private dreams of mackerels
Wish for vegetarian lives,
Peace of mind feeds the hungry,

What’s the point
In writin’ the cures,
When readin’ make the disease?

I am the disease
I am the disease
Am I?

More the freeze
Than the frozen,
I hold frost in my palm,

Life giver
Of a dying hate,
King of my own world!

Why am I deranged now?
My own insanity plays out,
I am my disease,

And I suffer
Suffer, make suffer,
With each shared word.

Will you be my new cure,
Never more.
Never more…

Poem © Phen Weston 2014


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