Dysthymia

The sinews of my soul have been messily dissected

By the unsteady, wavering hand of depression

Each tender nerve frays as it’s carelessly bisected

And my fragile heart no longer knows the comfort of compression.

 

Come free me from the torment of what beats me

And take me from the horrors of my blood

When all the morbid world prevails, and cheats me,

I need a hand to wave away the flood.

 

Hang tight, to the edge of your misery

Hold fast, to the bounds of despondency.

A condition of evil

Suffering that’s so primeval.

My dysthymia’s berating

And the sorrow’s inundating.

 

There is no palliation for my agony, unsound.

No anesthesia, cold, to fill my veins.

The purgatory holds me as it’s dragging me aground,

And tethers me with frigid metal chains. 

 

Come bind me to your body and we’ll fuse

To create a stronger being for us two.

If you should err, in that you refuse,

The heavy storm of sadness will ensue.

 

Hang tight, to the edge of your misery

Hold fast, to the bounds of despondency.

A condition of evil

Suffering that’s so primeval.

My dysthymia’s berating

And the sorrow’s inundating.

 

If only you could see how I’ve been rattled,

If only you knew how I could be saved.

They’ve deployed you in the heated heart of battle,

But deployed me where my mind has been enslaved.

 

Hang tight, to the edge of your misery

Hold fast, to the bounds of despondency.

A condition of evil

Suffering that’s so primeval.

My dysthymia’s berating

And the sorrow’s inundating.

 

Hang tight, to the edge of your misery

Hold fast, to the bounds of despondency.

A condition of evil

Suffering that’s so primeval.

My dysthymia’s berating

And the sorrow’s inundating.

 

Hang tight, to the edge of your misery

Hold fast, to the bounds of despondency.

A condition of evil

Suffering that’s so primeval.

My dysthymia’s berating

And the sorrow’s inundating.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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