Happy Times!

“What of it, then, depression?” he looks
Up at me. “It's always there, a piece of
Gauze across the sun, a pair of walls, electric
Terror, on the edges, pressing in, and anger,
Sometimes, beyond reason, and, of course,
The weariness that comes from working
All the time to keep from being torn
Apart.” “You can't remember being
Happy?” “No.” “Do you see some way
Out?” “I don't.” He scribbles on a pad.
“You know, you shouldn't drink so much.”
“That's all I have. You haven't helped.”
My hour's up. I find myself within a
Sterile corridor. The elevator doesn't
Come. The walls are closing in.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 35 times
Written on 2015-07-03 at 00:48

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