Buckets
Buckets sloshed out onto the ground.
I reached with fingers that seemed scraggly.
Snapped my fingers and they almost fell off.
With a “snap” I can taste in mysterious ways.
Gradual eye opening.
Stuff is pouring like clutter.
Whatever, stuff, things, words.
Depression helps me do stuff…
So if I’m slow moving?
I’m already feeling a thumb tack in my foot…
Just got too weary to take it out…
It was just easier to….
Take a slow moving nap.
Dump out stuff, things, blah.
Guess what? With depression, you don’t nap.
You just wake up,
Buckets sloshing onto the ground.
That’s how you get up.
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