The Ones With No 'Plan B'

This is one of my few poems that come from experience. Depression isn't easy to deal with, and trying to cure yourself is even worse.

Compacted powdery bliss

that slides down her throat

coating her thoughts

killing the cloaked figures

that hover through her

desolated cerebellum 

But when the pills fail

the world is dark

her mind is frail

she falls apart

when the pills fail

she is empty

Like a quilt 

with missing stitches

she’s held together

by fraying thread

A sinking ship

no hole can be found

no trouble to fix

but still, the water is filling 

pooling, drowning  

the ones on board