Depression Poetry

In (Your Own Head Nobody Is Your) Mate by Daniel Clark

The bashful day won’t dawn. It shirks and skirts
along fleshy walls – you thought all cages must
be metal? that dragons all breathe fire? – tickling
drowned blue orbs. I am inmate and guard, gaoler
and gaoled; sanity means order, direction, structure,
putting every detail in its place like how they sort
elements into that big table then use quadrilateral
voids to paper over the cracks, those pesky vacuums
of knowledge that sink a pursuit nobler than xenon,
argon or krypton… if they can use zips to attach pieces
of cloth, why must I hold myself together?

Daniel Clark Serotonin Photo

Daniel Clark is a working-class writer from the UK. His words have appeared in Blue Marble ReviewDreams WalkingFifty-Word Stories and Cuento Mag.