a dreadful month
trapped inside a prolific void
each and every night
when the destined digit hits the clock
there comes the daily rendition
that is my brain consuming itself
feeding off the darkness
pushing on the hole
pulling it apart
creating a deeper void
i am sickened with this chemical imbalance
but perhaps
i am the real disease
a disease that infects the few around her
and plagues them with my melancholy illness
much more than melancholy
a kind of despair that festers
no point of origin
no reasoning
a battle i must repress
lest i infect them until they're as black as i
and i am left to be picked off as a pest
so dreadful is a month
drowned by a heap of tears
deterred by my own defect
yet i paint my disguise
in a manner of forgery
and wait for yet another
