I forget depression.
I forget it.
Like frosted patterns
of lace, iced
to my pane,
the sun burns over
and I emerge
from grey haze.

But as is nature,
suns and moons swing,
taking their turns on me.
Splintered patterns
creep back.
I can’t see out.
I forget light.
I forget it.

I scratch the frost
with my finger nails,
exhale warmth on the window,
but these valleys of vision
are overtaken
by the river,
by the flood,
by the landslide,
by the avalanche.
By heaven and hell,
warring like snails;
Pouring out from every pore
like hatched maggots,
hungry for a meal.

This frigid depression.
This frozen glass coffin.
I lay on my belly, inside,
staring farther than the pillow.
I wait for day
but night is long
and my angels, long
ago, burnt away
like crepe paper rainbows.
This body, this mind, this piñata
set ablaze
in this hollow black landscape
where I’ll remain to lay,
trying to forget;
But forgetting how
to forget it.

Forget it,
forget it.

written on 11/28/2012 by: Matt Kane