deepundergroundpoetry.com

Housework

 
 
The vacuum cleaner sucks out all memories  
Apart from those of long ago when I was young  
Which I can remember in the finest of detail  
But it’s hard to remember just an hour ago  
My shoulders are trouser pressed downward  
The downward pressure is dulled but heavy  
It’s not exactly pain I am being squashed  
Into and below the bottom of the wheelchair  
Dusting removes the shackles from the demons  
And they bound towards me to claim their prize  
Squashed down and held I am a very easy target  
The anti-depressants try to polish a bright shine  
But the demons are too strong to easily defeat  
Like the dishes I try to wash my mind clean  
But there is no time; my mind is in the blender  
The demons become evil stock for evil soup  
And evil and death are served in every spoonful  
The T.V. gets switched on to Dave’s channel  
Re-run of the abuse and torture of childhood  
The madness and the alcohol fuelled violence  
Now feels the same today as it felt back then  
My downward pressure gets much, much, heavier  
The tumble drier whirls more pressure in my gut  
I start to panic: how far down the hole am I going  
Tears flow and the sobbing becomes uncontrollable  
All of a sudden fear: I am just nine years of age  
And the men of Christ are taking their turns  
The abuse of men lays heavy on my heart  
As my heart gets grated like Pizza cheese  
My soul now like a toilet brush covered in shit  
I place a bottle of pills in front of me and stare  
These are the good ones the ones that give you  
Ten minutes before they do irreparable heart damage  
Anyone would think I had thought about this before  
I have, but it is not in my give to stop the depression  
I twist open the bottle of spiced rum, my favourite  
I twist open the bottle of pills and take a handful  
Then like the microwave going off I hear a ping  
It’s a message from my little niece, there’s a smile  
There’s a teddy bear, there is love and hugs sent  
This rolls back the worst of the deep depression  
The tops go back on the suicidal bottles tightly  
An unintentional intervention gives great dividends  
The demons hide from love; it is their kryptonite  
I smile and send a loving reply to the little one  
Some people feel angelic arriving with perfect timing  
She doesn’t know how close I got, maybe that’s good  
She relies on her Uncle Buck for support and smiles  
‘He’s a funny guy’ but she knows clowns do cry  
But deep depression only has 1 cure – Love with hugs  
   
 
For the Depression Comp
Written by David_Macleod (14397816)
Published | Edited 28th Dec 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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