»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #12
»
Ventriloquizing Depression
| Open Poetry #12 |
|
Ventriloquizing Depression |
|
Mistletoe Angel 
since 2000-12-17
Posts 32816Portland, Oregon |
Ventriloquizing Despair By: Noah Eaton 3/3/01 Down in the cold dusty basement I would sit Verrucosed in agony, pricking me down to the bone Endlessly trying to live my last few days with a thankful visit Already wrapping up my own words of farewell before I pay myself to the reaper, far down beneath my home Reaching into a partially-opened cardboard box, I pulled out an old ragdoll with cotton breaking out of it’s neck, wearing blue hair, red button eyes, a yellow dress, a dress all so rusty Tucking it in my fingers, I go ventriloquizing depression, passing the countdown of my days away chattering thoughts of nonsense I learned to have a friendly conversation with this acquaintance, I decided to name her Snowy Holding it close, I shouted out all my frustration and depression to her, waiting to hear what her plushy heart presents We’d perform sing-alongs together, making up the blues as we went along Nothing now could possibly stop me from fading away, to change my mind At least I had something to keep me company for the time being, so I wouldn’t be alone for the torture that I prolonged Aside from something that could wish me good luck right before I die Inside from dismal gray April and Mays skies, I would fall asleep with Snowy tucked under my arm From my nightmares I would rise and scare myself to sleep again, balanced between life and death in knavery Stabbed by a palindrome of anguish carving me up like a T-bone steak on a butchers farm And all I wanted was one last day where the sun and moon is all I could see A few weeks drove right by me, and I tossed and carried Snowy the doll around When at one sudden moment, her head fell loose, she died before my eyes, and I burst into uncontrollable tears Laying before me helpless on the cold concrete floor, I fell to the ground, holding her pieces in my arms under my chests wailing like an ownerless hound Losing my only friend, losing one and all that calmed my fears I buried her grave down in the box in which she came from Attaching her head together in strands of Scotch tape I found in the kitchen Alone I sat, awaiting what death may come, which had never come My loneliness continued, but I learned from my pain, and now I win That day, I learned a valuable lesson from an old keepsake That it is not impossible whatsoever to make a friend Even if it could seem like forever, there is always some life in stake To forever erase thoughts of Death, and as much as one friend can bring great amends… |
||
| © Copyright 2001 Nadia Lockheart - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
