Poetry in Depression

It’s nine am and I am almost awake
No alarm
Just starting my coffee
Been up for hours.

What is going on?

I tried to sleep in
I laid there alone
The fire still crack’ling
The dog still asleep.

But change can be abrupt
Seemingly without flow
Little poetry to it
All story.

I had a rhythm
I had seasons
They have been disrupted.

They were not fun
They were not good
They were not healthy
But they were a rhythm
And now they are cracking.

And there is no poetry to it
It is ugly and abrupt
And so I am almost awake
At nine in the morning.

This is a change

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