Melancholia
A Poem
stale, aged ink flows through the
narrow passageways of my veins—
rising, and receding like the tides—
fickle, and fleeting like lost time.
the emptiness that clings within
my brittle bones feels too heavy—
my mind haunted by parchment paper
ghosts that i have never met.
the dark-tipped waves of melancholia
lap behind my glassy, hollow eyes—
blinking back the overflow of
weighted saltwater cries—of words
devoid of my programmed, repressive lies.
“i’m doing really great!”
“oh, i’m just tired!”
“don’t worry, i’m fine!”
amidst dirty dishes, and cigarette ashes
the dam breaks—spilling forward the
the ink from within—staining my
pale hands with my heart’s truth.
lines, and stanzas run in rivulets down
my arms—pooling onto crinkled paper
in heartbreakingly succinct poetry—
a kiss of death—a breath of life.
i am left spent—riddled with fatigue—
drifting off into the cleansing waters
of cathartic streams—weightless.
Xandra Winters ©️2021
