A Vision of Depression

The blood behind my eyes begins to turn
perception from solidity to trance
by pressing on receptors of concern
to where I find my present circumstance.
Escape becomes a passageway of nerves
upon which my subconscious thoughts depart
from fissures in the cavernous reserves
of psyche far below my memory’s heart.
To juxtapose my memory with now
creates an incongruity at best;
at worst, it drags a knife across my brow
before it pushes slowly through my chest.
The pressure is released by stabbing deep,
and anti-climax drains me into sleep.

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