its seductive whispers sends me spiraling down
to a depth i didn't remember
after i clawed out.

its slimy, inky stains imprint on my hands,
tainting all i touch, and they laugh bitterly
because they are reminders
of how i am not important - not worthy - nothing -
and that i am empty.

and it will win, days and days and
weeks - a month? - six months, a year? - at a time
but i will fight
for that individual
smile and laugh.

or at least
i will tell myself that as reason
to get out of bed.

it will overshadow and eclipse my sun.
and i will stumble and crawl, trying to find a light
in the metal tunnel it keeps me inside.
and if i scream, it will echo.

and if it echos
i just might be heard.

Guide that inspired this poem: 



very good

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