My depression is working overtime and charging me extra. Can’t bribe him with a day off no matter the weather. Told him to get moving but he dropped the anchor. This lake is filled with tears and I ain’t getting better. I put it in a memorandum and even wrote it in a letter. He just laughed at me, shouted, and gave the middle finger. The only way I can quiet him is with some liquor. He follows me every year but here’s the kicker.
He mirrors me and worries me and is in every picture. The funny thing, the longer he dreams, the less I remember.
© Delia Ross. 2019