Depression

Death's heavy chain encircles my bones
Locked up in my head, all alone.
My hands drip with menacing freedom
I wait, listen under the door for someone
but no one comes.
There's a knife on the table, left unattended
but I'm too tired tonight to befriend it
Don't want to live or die--
indifferent to time,
let it pass but let it pass me by.
Fatigue manifests itself physically
snatching away what little remains
draining every source of energy
but in my heart sets the true weight:
a silent, simmering self-hate that
never gets a chance to boil over.
Sleep rests not in my eyes,
or under my tongue
soliciting an oval-mouthed yawn
from dormant lips.
It stems from a deeper place,
a hurt that I cannot name.
I know not its origin
but am certain of its existence.
I wish myself not dead--
only await an escape from my head