We, the Depressed Night

A heartless break, the exhausted soul rips apart

The black hole of darkness, the ultimately trip and fall

Out of the air and into the nothing. Nothing at all.

The sound of the spiral staircase lines the castle of the

Eyes, surrounds the heart with the ribs of knives,

Takes the blast of each tear, each lie and lies with the

Bed of nails - fail to reach the brain in time and die by

The fall that takes another life.

I paint the wall with my dark brown hair, the floors with

My greying skin. I plaster across the walls my cherry-red

Blood, dark as red wine in the winter when 4pm is the

New midnight.

Flickers of my brown eyes stain the ceiling and look down

From the sky, each to its own black hole of strife, greying

The skin beneath these eyes. For we don’t sleep the blue

Calm of sleep. We sleep the blue, the electric hue, the makeshift

Insomniac built from headaches that throb the desperate burnt

Orange and held together by PVA Glue.