I tried to write a poem that talks, but I don't know if I was successful...
Melancholy: A Disease
Tears come from a warm place of rage,
an incubator of flesh and blood
little seeds all of them, planting sadness
all over sidewalks, clothes, and bathrooms
and that is how it spreads,
a contagion.
You can feel its miasma in the air,
it clutches your breath, steals your speech.
If you look at tears under a microscope,
you will find a journey with a million feet,
hungry mouths, the midnight hour
when all of the sad people beg for sleep.
No antibiotic or rubbing alcohol can rid this disease.
It's on all of us like yeasts and germs waiting
to intrude through our thin skin,
waiting to replicate itself a million times
until the host dies, reborn as an entity,
a blue amoeba, a parasitic sadness that feeds.
Posts
