Inventing Melancholy 6.30.2008 Poem by Margaret Alice

Today I see the world through
the five colours of depression,
everything seems stale and old
and I feel as sad as a coal mine
abandoned

My head feels as if it is folding
in on itself, as if a concertina is
moved in and out and the tunes
I produce are off-key and
dissonant

Like a pre-school band practice
session and I'm listening to “Oh
Lonesome Me” playing in my
mind all the time and my head
is ready to explode

I hate the world and myself for
no other reason than that we
exist; firmly convinced that pain
is my constant companion;
though

Pain actually comes and goes
as everyone knows – right now
pain seems everlasting and all-
encompassing, I read about
a boy with

Tourette syndrome who blames
himself for the twin-tower blast
on nine-eleven, I know how he
feels; it seems I’m guilty of
inventing melancholy…