my depression is contagious
although I see her morning, see her every night, I rejoice in the moments when I look at her picture,
while she is away, working, enjoying her life. The love of being with her, the agony
of her being away. The pain of her misunderstandings of me. The torment
of seeing her in pain. I would take her lifetime of pain and devour
it. I would take her pain in my hands, fill my crevices, artery’s with her grief,
and hold it, allow it to torture
me, if it meant that she did not have to feel any, in this life.
The realization of her sadness will forever make me ill.
Her downturned mouth, eyes falling onto the cement sidewalk, legs heavy as cold,
grey boulders as she walked away. I felt the misery
of her in pain, in seeing her so unhappy,
that I would take my own life,
if it meant she never felt pain
like that again.