Untitled On Depression Poem by Shelby Barker

Thoughts can shatter a Lover’s World —
thoughts, how I make us hurt
Dreams,
dreams, are taped with anguish, they are no escape, only
the stoic can delineate the difference
between being asleep,
being awake, around here.
The new title is Loathe: Introspection
at its lowest low.
The words on the tongues of Love and Hate
spit
and fight but neither take hold.
It is a mad internal tragedy, a mad
eternal battle inside me. Everyone smiles
but no one remembers names,
no one remembers faces Too ephemeral,
don’t obtrude,
wings aren’t earned with attitude and lights
aren’t needed if you stay up until dawn,
but the rock at the bottom makes
sleep so tempting.
Dream a little dream, of memories and melancholy,
and I’ll wake to the eyes of a stranger