Clinical Depression

By Melissa    Avatar

Roots furrow into my bone marrow.
Usurping nutrients through crevices,
leaving behind bereft hollow husks.

Ink leaches into my blood stream.
The midnight hue circulates,
slowly edging out the scarlet.

Vines wedge in-between my ribs.
A splintering crack erupts,
its whisper inaudible.

I tried to breathe shallow and ignore the festering
but you will eventually smother me,
so I bathed in boiling water
but you thrive in such extremes
so I lobbed off my left arm
but you grow back stronger.

It has left me wondering;
Are you the wicked thing or am I?

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