"Death of the Melancholy" by Kate Foley
And it hit me, a baseball in a batting
cage called Manic Depression.
How could the melancholy hit me so fast
when all it ever does is slow me down?
The side of my cheek swollen
from the impact of another punch,
I eat nothing for thirty-six hours
then two pints of Ben & Jerry’s.
I move at the speed of a ketamine
overdose. I try to ply the blade out
of a disposable razor. I skip shaving.
I skip showers. I tell my roommates
I’m fine. Every symptom controlling
and then it hits me, it won’t always be like this.
I won’t be bound to my bedposts
nor will I be victim to Lifetime movie
marathons nor will I drink a gallon
of liquor, just to pass the day away.
This is just another episode,
not an entire television series.
*previously published in the bird hours
(where are you press, 2017)