Friday, April 17, 2015

This boy, he bleeds

I have taken to metaphor-ing severe depression
     as an open wound with profuse bleeding
     the stopping of which is not necessarily the resolution
               the healing
     of the wound
nor the removal of the injuring agent

but a bandage that might at least help
     stop further loss
     clear up the light-headedness
     prevent infection

     clean you up  for the requisite appearances
          birthdays, high school graduations
          your own wedding
               what have you

And when the dejected 18 year-old
     for whom melancholia is something of a contact sport
 says to me:

“But what if you like the bleeding?”
Which I wasn’t expecting
But am in no way surprised to hear

Well, that’s the thing you see…
     I respond, not missing a beat
     Because I really do know
          the thing
          in question

That would make this
a peculiar
          yet undeniable
form of self-harm

     As if I myself haven’t engaged in this sweet romance

                    Mm, twice, sorry I forgot that one time, nonetheless

Still an affective discomfort
Still a wound
     of the higher order cognition kind
          I have been hurt
Not that that’s any of my business ’til you choose to share that
Fortunately for you, I’m patient
     As others were patient with me
I wouldn’t be here playing this game with you if they hadn’t been

Now then
This boy, he bleeds
And I’m really excited because I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone else
Who could, potentially
     (oh, how he hates that word)
Really make it work for him
          And the 18 year-old he’ll get to meet someday

1 comment:

  1. This one. Keeps haunting me. I keep coming back to it.