A Broken-Bench Convo

Depression works its way through all night;

Self-pity consumes from within...

Kindness and nobility disappeared,

All that my mind can play in an amplifier 

Is the single question on a repeat mode:

'Why should it be always me?!?'

Tears keep dripping and soaking my collars; 

A suffocating heart keeps trying

To find solace and consolation

From nowhere and no one...

In fact, the idea of nowhere and no one 

Is the root- feelings to be pitied 

And crawled into a blanket... 

It just becomes dawn without even a wink of sleep;

Just so numb to reality yet just continue the routine,

By pulling the dead weight of my body out of bed 

And hit the park for a walk believing feelings would change;

However, the thought of the absence of one soul 

Who celebrated me for being me unconditionally, 

And Who made my life worthwhile...

Though the chaos of responsibility and conflicts are over, 

So are the peace of belonging and the security of home!

Nothing could help: whistling wind, flapping ducks, 

twinkling water, or rustling trees;

Even flutterbies inside me are silent... 

Then a friend distracts me and pulls me to the sidewalk;

And we sit on a broken stone bench for a convo...

It is such an emotional, stupid rant, 

Or tantrum of a toddler who doesn't know what to say, 

As I am a grown-up I have words to use,

But with zero rationale sensibility applied: 

No connection or cohesive thoughts... 

Just blurt out anger and anxiety!

The funny part I remember and smile is:

The comparison with a 4-year-old child while turning 42 years old!