Cavern of Despondency

She’s captive.
Slave to an emotion
her smile wishes
to be more foreign
than domestic,
more fictitious
than intrinsic.

It has evicted
every blush,
every grin.
Every joyful brim of laughter
it has shattered
from within.

She’s shackled.
Cuffed just enough
to grip life by the handful.

She hands you
apologetic smiles
sometimes dipped in sarcasm
just to silence you.

You’re not fighting
her battle,
you’re not winning
her war.

If you really
want to help
then stop asking her:
“Is everything okay?”
As if she doesn’t
megaphone the answer
in the concave of chest,
watch it echo in unrest
over her sloped shoulders
and avalanche her neck
into rolling boulders.

She’s crestfallen for a reason,
wears her heart on her sleeve
not because it’s in season.
Her deportment,
has fashioned enough of a statement
to warrant:
#is she always like this
#it’s just one of her phases
#we don’t really know
the troubles she faces but
I hope to God it’ll be over soon.

She’s consumed.
Despondent,
beyond hope.
Searching for the respondents
who’ll lift this iron yoke.

She’s baptized herself
in her tears
enough times to know,
that her newest feeling
is her highest low.

You want to know
how she got these scars?
She fell in love with depression.
He offered his commitment
as bracelets of endearment
and she
has been carving herself out ever since…

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