Depressed

Depressed

Squashed flat

Totally spread eagled

Frozen in winter

Even as the sun bleaches

The bones of the dead

An arid day without

A water bottle

Easily left behind

In the befuddle

Of forgetfulness

Keys left on the kitchen table

Moody blues

Compressed into a morning

Inadequacy is gathering

Unto itself

An army of doubters

Dither me as questions

Elude an answer

Provide me with proof

Of life

The writing is on the fridge

Personal reminders

Of infirmity

Are the only constant

As even the ground

Begins to rise

Of its own accord

Help me fall

A simple task

Too easily mismanaged

The pain of recall

Is the only acute

Sense I have left

What then

When this too fails.