Atlas and I Are Alike

Depression is heavy and suffocating and lonely

Atlas and I Are Alike

Much like Atlas holding the sky

With brute force alone,

I hold my own depressive thoughts,

Pushing upwards with all my strength

Every day a Herculean struggle-

to avoid being crushed by the weight of my own fatality.

 

But I am feeble and weak,

my pale arms quiver and shake like a new born,

and as sweat drips down my face,

I yearn for a brief moment of respite,

from my endless unwinnable battle with the deepest parts of my confused,

belittled ego.

 

For a small, glimmering moment of hope,

my burden appears to become lighter,

and some feeling returns to my brittle bones

but alas;

it must have been a dream, or a bittersweet hallucination,

a conjuring provided by my taunting imagination

and,

as I dare to dream of a life where I am free of my oppressor…

 

The weight drops.

First by a centimetre-

Then by an inch-

Then by a metre,

As I desperately try to stop the avalanche,

Pushing and heaving with all my might-

 

It slams me in the face-

Leaving me breathless and winded,

My teeth rattling in my skull,

Blood oozing into my mouth.

That disgusting, bitter taste

That I have become so accustomed to.

 

I lay there, under the darkness,

Feeling every nook, cranny and foothold

of my blanket prison.

I find no exit, as hopelessness greets me as an old friend

I begin to think I can hear the moans and groans of those trapped before me

Their agonized cries begging for attention

Begging for my surrender

Begging for a chance to savour my tantalizing flesh,

begging for a chance to be set free-

what does the outside world look like now?

Have I ever even seen this world of which they speak?

 

The crushing darkness presses on my chest

Restrictive and suffocating,

As my breaths, even out

The abyss does not seem so frightening,  

it is even comfortable here-

wrapped in a cocoon,

with my demons whispering honey coated words in my ear.

 

My final act of defiance:

as I disappear in an astonishing act of trickery;

leaving nothing but a puppet resembling my former self

my face still carved into a picturesque plastic perfect smile 

and no one will think to wipe it away; 

instead, shaking their heads and muttering: 

"what a shame, what a damn shame, she was just like the rest." 

Author's Note

Any feedback is appreciated!

Reviews

[Cobblestone Traveler]

Wow. This is intense and vivid with excellent imagery. The hunger of those trapped before "begging for a chance to savour my tantalizing flesh"--chill inducing. I appreciate you sharing this tragic and haunting piece.