The Poem ' I Am Gone '

1525 Words Oct 14th, 2014 7 Pages
There are days in which I feel as though I never want to leave, and days in which I feel I am already gone. Today, I am gone. There is no polite way to be human, really, and so I’ve given up on the quest for unconditional optimism. There is no constant glow radiating from my pores, the kind that women are somehow supposed to conjure up as their contribution to the world. My freckled, goose bumped legs are planted intently on splintered wood. I have a view of the next rundown building on the next barren lot, paint chipped not with nostalgia but with force. I often look past it, to what may follow, but not today. Today I welcome the sunken view with poor posture and tired brow. Cigarette butts surround my coffee mug in a sort of pathetic way. In my cold fingers, a black ballpoint pen, I haven’t yet put it down to rest. My hands shake; they always shake, now. I’m staring at a blank page, not romantically blank, like that of a stilled Arizona morning or like the gray harbor before the sailors rise but like that of our mother’s stare or the empty space in between my breaths at night. The pages are always blank, now.
Today, I am gone. Oh, but those days that I couldn’t dream of leaving, they haunt me. They sort of come in waves, you know, and that is the trouble with manic depression. It is the most obvious symptom yet the most complex. Those days seem faint now, lost in an abyss of poison and pills, but when they arrive, they are grand; I can remember that much. It is on those…
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