Tag: depression

cat casebl21.txt

Siren klaxon announcing my arrival

Car quietly whining as it slowed

Electric motor’s gentle purr

I step out into the cold

Snow falling in thick flakes

Cotton covering to all

I pull my cap down

Flat top adorned with badge

Emblazoned with HIPD

As I approach the front door

Officer greets with a simple nod

I flash credentials

Holo-card glimmering in the dark

“Detective Kovar Nepovim

I heard it was suicide

Do we know their name yet?”

The officer nods again

Leading me within

“Her name was Bronislava Liska

And she worked for Ignis…”

I pause a moment

Holding up my hand

“Ignis?

Then why are we here?”

The officer shrugs

Opening the door beside us

“They tell me where to go

And I go”

I sigh and hold up my wrist before me

Display fizzles on

/HalcyOS Select Mode/

I select biological analyzer

Then pull out and pull on

A set of thin white gloves

“A coverup it is then…”

I grumble beneath my breath

The apartment is cramped

Shelves lined with dolls

Synthetic glass eyes glaring

Judging

Above

Silk hangs low

I brush it with my finger

It’s real

“Impressive…”

Expensive…

As I step farther in I spy her feet

Just hanging past the silk

Table toppled nearby

On the floor a reader

Opened to Poe

And a spilled glass

Of Synth-Wine

A bit overdone

A bit too staged

I know what this is

But still

I focus the analyzer on her

Face blue

Lips pale

Tongue bulged

Analyzer makes quick work

Cocktail of antidepressants and Synth-Wine

Some sad literature and there we have it

I sigh again

Sitting on her bed

Looking up at the remains

What remains of her

Little more

Than fertilizer

And some futile fretting

The analyzer blips

Something else

On the shelf

The doll

It has real hair

One eye is real glass

The other

A camera

I quickly pocket the doll

Evidence

I’ll analyze later

Yes

Later

I’ll include it in the report

The Creative Process

A young man stood

His head to a wall

Pulled back

Swung forward

And crushing his skull

Passerby cried

At this pitiful whelp

Folks tried to stop

To impede

Hell, just to help

He just smiled at them

His teeth a grisly mess

“Oh don’t mind me

I’m just an artist

And this painting, my best”

He mused “just a bit more

Then it will be done

Wait no

Not quite

I’ll erase this last one”

Featured image source: http://davidmoody.net/2014/04/18/hitting-head-brick-wall/#.XAVnORZMGEc

Writer’s Gothic

You’re working on your next story. The inspiration struck you part way through your last story. Your stories never end. Your laptop open on twelve projects all labeled “WIP.”

The glare of the page hurts your eyes. The idea of what to write hurts your head. Your hands ache from hours of writing. your fingers nearly blistered. Why is the page still blank?

Eureka! The breakthrough needed to conclude that manuscript you started years ago! Now… where was it? Where did you keep it? Was it on the flash drive? External hard drive? Gigabytes of data, but not the few kilos you require.

Ah the old story blog you started in college… maybe you should start it again. Passwords spill out of you and all are wrong. You were clever and made the password relate to the story. Too clever. The email is the same. A simple quip no one would see and you have forgotten.

A publication’s email “submission requested” and the promise of exposure… yet no payment. You eat your cold ramen. It tastes like exposure, completely without value.

You scoff as you read an excerpt from a new e-book. You can write better than that! So why are they published and you aren’t? Your twenty unfinished novels eye you sadly like puppies in a pound from their folder on your desktop.

A rejection letter in the mail. You set it with the others. A few more and your paper craft castle will be complete. You jokingly refer to it as your “house of leaves.” No one gets the joke.

Just keep writing. You get better with practice. We don’t look back on where we came from. Those were dark times. Just keep writing.

You’re depressed because you haven’t written. You don’t have the energy to lift your hand, let alone create. You berate yourself for not writing. This makes you more depressed. The cycle continues, every day the same.

You just need a cup of coffee to start your day. After this cup you’ll begin. One more then it can really get under way. A few more sips and you’ll have it. The cups are a mountain range lining your sink.

You finished. Finally. It’s over. You look back and instantly are filled with the unstoppable urge to delete everything. It is an affront to god and should not see the light of day.

Hypothetical

If there was a man

Hypothetically

Who was everything you ever wanted

What you alway desired

And he hypothetically lived

In a big old house

Alone and want for love

Could you see yourself loving him

Hypothetically

Only in concept

A purely thought formed man

Chiseled features

And flowing hair

The idea of perfection

Hypothetically waiting for you

In his imagined house

Dressed sharp

Just the way you like

Yes

You thought you could love him

You thought you were there

Holding him and kissing him

And living and loving

So perfectly lovely

But you awake each day

Alone

This man forgotten

For only a moment

And when you return

To this theoretical place

He feels like you were allways gone

You feel so guilty

Hypothetically

You thought you loved him

You thought it was perfect

Until the day

You found him dead

Edges fuzzy and blurry and red

Already forgetting his breath

His perfect laugh

You realized

You didn’t love this man

You only thought of him

Hypothetically

And so you went on

Your life none the worse

And from time to time

You think to yourself

The perfect man didn’t exist

Except the one

Who lived

Hypothetically

I Died

At the base of that tree

Blood pooling neath my feet

Face splattered with his life

I died

 

When I cradled his body

All shattered and torn

Barely a cohesive thing

I died

 

As I cried out to the gods

To every last one of them

And heard silence in return

I died

 

When I returned to my village

Water left behind, forgotten

Its absence, not my love’s, noticed

I died

 

As the elders counseled me

Rose’s arm upon my shoulder

“These things happen for a reason”

I died

 

As I pled for them begged

To get his body returned it to me

“No burial for water bearers”

I died

 

While I lie here in bed

Knowing tomorrow will be the same

Will continue on without his light

I die

 

As I think how every day

Every moment will be without him

His absence an indelible mark

I die

 

As I close my eyes

Tears still streaming

Impossible to halt

I die

 

I wish…

If you liked this poem and want more from this world, make sure to read Amberley’s poem for today right here! Pay close attention to the words. Something hides there. Also check out our collections After the End and the hashtag AfterTheEnd

Press on

Stone presses on chest

Movement an impossibility

Add a few more if you want

Motivation an impossibility

 

I pour from bed

A horrible mess on the floor

I look in the mirror

A horrible mess in all regards

 

I must practice kindness

You’re trying your best

Give leeway on hard days

You’re trying like all the rest

 

I’m still standing

I’m not done yet

It’s a battle

I’m not dead yet

Update Required

The buzzing started weeks ago

An update claiming upgrades

“To quality of life”

My eyes swam with words

End User Agreement

And several hundred paragraphs

I brushed them aside

Progress bar began

Several hours later

A warning appeared

“USER BELOW PRODUCTIVITY THRESHOLD”

Then the buzzing began

Three words flashing over and over

“Return to Work”

I am crippled from the waist down

I am only qualified for physical labor

But I cannot afford cybernetics

Beyond the state mandated

Citizen OS

I feel nauseous…

I just want it to end

For quiet

For rest