Depressive Haze Poem by Paula Michelle Puddephatt

I learn not to mention them
too often:
my greyscale days -
this, too familiar, depressive haze.

I can view
your vibrant summer,
from afar.
To me it is simply
an unreachable star.

Is the physical illness
worse,
or the curse
of feeling constantly empty inside?
I don't know, or even care, any more.
I mainly exist
behind my cell door.
What is my life for?

And then it returns:
the darkness. Pure darkness.
Almost enticing - almost inviting.
The moment
when grey
becomes black
once again.
I can never explain

why I am
immersed
in emotional pain -
why sometimes
I can barely
function
at all.

Yet, still I am trying to smile,
and sometimes I do.