Pyrrhic Victory

For three and a half long days I lay under siege from my loneliness,
Reinforcing my walls with words -
Stacking stones of Spanish lessons layered with mortar from memorizing poems.
But always there are gaps,
And depression is deadly accurate.
The slightest interstice is a gaping vulnerability, and this foe lies in wait in the darkness.
It sees the slightest hint of exposed light where the inner heart fire glows
And that is where it’s fiery dart will fly,
It’s soft metal accumulating where it strikes, weighing down the worker.
How much longer can I hold out under this hot lead?

I awoke alone on a dark Sunday morning and checked the battlements.
How will this ever continue to stand?
Mechanically, I got to work.
New lessons.
New poems.
Stack one on the other without stopping.
A long list of tasks just to count the day a win, if I’m still standing at the end.
Then,
A text.
A brief, indefinite armistice.
I’d won this day, at least.