They do say

They do say

That some people

Have never met melancholia

Not even briefly.

I guess those people do exist

Passing through life

Exiting with a smile

Painted on their faces

From a life well lived,

Without pathos,

Slipping away in a haze

Of good vibrations.

Do they find a way to heaven?

It does exist for them,

Apparently,

Blissful ignorance

Bland acceptance

Sleepily hallowed.

Perhaps it isn’t true

Death comes as a blessed relief

From the monotony

Of saying no

To the drunkards kiss

The blaggards blow

The scoundrels hiss.

The squeal of sin

Scraping its fingernails

Down a chalkboard

Tearing the air into strips

For the light to break through.

Jagged edges

Searing the eyeballs

On another wretched day.

The wedding ring glints

The engagement ring jangles

As together

They dangle

From my neck

Head hung low

Over the toilet bowl.

She wore them

On her fingers

Such beauty in a single-digit

Slim wrists

The watchstrap

Never small enough

No matter the links

She had removed.

Melancholia comes at a price,

I paid it willingly,

The burden of it

Is proof of life

The morning after the life before.

It seems like yesterday

Is but a blink away

When nights stretch out endlessly.

The days come around

In bunches of two or three

Each one bleaching

Into the next.

Psychotropic medication

Without the need

To swallow

One step beyond

The pale.

I am faltering

But the thought of her

In the space between

Every waking breath,

Heaven sent recompense,

Will keep me breathing

For a little longer

Yet.