Drowning in recurrent depression,
It had consumed me to the point of normalcy.
Far deeper than my actor, had laid the product of my woe: self loathing.
The only thing I could control.
Hindsight would suggest that that, too, was a facade: it controlled me.
Living while lifeless - void of emotion - a validated argument.
Detachment from the self, relying on my marionette, an appealing escape route.
The yearning for emotional distance from the self offered the illusion of endless air.
Attempt to struggle against the current resulted in a deeper plummet.
My frightfully capable being now threatened to chasm from the physical.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.