An Encounter With Depression

the smell of rain soaks the coat you left.

the first time you came into my house,

I remember you taking it off,

getting comfortable,

viewing the photos hung in their frames

shielded from your disrespectful eyes.

protected from your essence.

rummaging through my books,

lounging on my sofa,

putting your feet up on my coffee table,

knowing you don’t live here.

lighting another cigarette, polluting my lungs

and staining the walls.

leaving your stench in the halls

to remind me of how you were here.

belting out the lyrics to the song I hate the most.

scribbling bitter nothings on the walls in my blood.

completely satisfied when I weep in anguish,

pushing the bottle in my face, and pouring it down my throat.

laughing when I muster the courage to leave,

tearing those same photos off the wall,

violating, ripping, destroying them.

using what’s left of the frames

to cut me over and over again,

choosing a new part of my body to deface.

wiping the last few tears

my eyes could barely make,

and when I fall asleep, I dream you are gone.

I can hear the snickers you make

when I feel just a little bit of peace.

happy to give me the true sense of reality:

I awake every day and wait,

wait for you to return.

wait for you to set fire to the curtains.

wait for you to stomp mud into my carpet.

wait for you to scream at the top of your lungs

lies that feel too true.

wait for you to cut more of my hair off.

wait for you to leave me untethered from every

other part of me.

I wait for you to come home,

and for you to forget that old coat again,

knowing you’ll never need it.

About the author
poet | night crawler | foodie Follow Kharon on Instagram or read more articles from Kharon on Thought Catalog.

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