Episode

She sits as the onset rises

Welling up in her loins like a flood until it rolls down her eyes like the leaves of a willow

Memories invade with definitions at a loss

She scoffs at her outpour 

No consolation to be had. No one to say “sorry”

No words could undo the damage but it will pass

For now.

{This is a poem dedicated to those who battle depression, like myself, and cannot always find the words to explain the experience as it is happening. It is often more complex than this. However, this is a depiction of my usual experience when I find myself on that slippery slope.}

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