When All Those Happy People Are Asleep

Depressions do not bleed.

I notice you depressed, they tell you.

Are you discouraged?

They tell you because they notice that you don’t get excited about the same things that they get excited about.

Because you see the threads and the masks and the backdrops.

And you have to pretend you don’t know.

Plans start to seem absurd to you.

So that?

The great question.

You start to stall. Not answering the phone. To go out less.

So that they stop telling you that they notice you strange.

And people get tired of you.

It’s what you wanted. Being on a floating boat.

An island that is getting dirty little by little.

First you leave a full ashtray.

Then the dishes.

And suddenly the spiders have occupied your space.

And you don’t care.

Nothing seems important.

And you’re too sad to cry

I wish you could cry because at least you would feel sorry for yourself.

You would give yourself something.

To you.

You can, come out of there, don’t be silly.

Wanting is power, come on, come on.

Nonsense, that is taken away with a good march.

A good fuck.

And you listen to everything as if nothing was live and everything was recorded.

You give it to pause. You turn it off. You see it again.

And the night comes.

The worst are the nights.

When all those happy people are asleep.

And you can’t.

You are flooded with all the memories.

You feel guilty because it only depends on you and you don’t.

Tomorrow will be another day, tomorrow I will surely find an incentive.

Tomorrow I leave.

Tomorrow I fix myself.

I call tomorrow.

Tomorrow I start the diet.

Tomorrow everything.

But it comes tomorrow.

And you are still the same ghostly trapped.

When you turn to chemistry, you are no longer you.

You’re not that shy boy anymore.

Not that girl who tended to melancholy.

But you are not another either.

You live in a pleasant painting for others to see.

You don’t want to get out of frame anymore.

There is no more danger.

We were all boys and girls.

We all look forward to a hug when we get home.

A beautiful girl, how beautiful the drawing.

A handsome one of mine how good.

We all played and the world didn’t care what we thought.

Even we didn’t care.

We were just playing with a piece of rope and a stick and a grasshopper.

There was a time when we just were and were.

And if you were something, you can be it again.

Close your eyes.

You’re a child.

You are a girl.

It doesn’t matter what you think.

It doesn’t matter what they think.

I am valid.

I am worth it.

Because I’m alive even though I don’t know what for.

As are the weeping willows.

Caterpillars and algae.

All rocked in this amazing infinity.

Open your eyes.

Fuck.

That’s great.

I’m still here.

Just once.

How many deer will be born today?