Poetry Challenge Week 24
I occasionally wonder,
if depression can be seen,
seeping from my skin.
A thick
dark
cloud
pouring from my pores.
Poisonous to the touch.
If that off feeling,
of balancing on a tight rope,
fishing weights hanging
from one arm,
can be felt.
Electricity
sparking,
biting at the skin
of everyone in the room.
Does it cover me
until I disappear
in the fog?
A ghost ship
lost at sea.
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