Washington Heights


I sat in my sadness And my seat was warm. The couch became my best friend, So much so it knew the imprints of ass And the taste of my tears. I lived in a house of darkness, Whose window panels were jaded And whose paint was pain. The paint never chipped, So I never changed it. I became so familiar with the color of depression. 

The black appeared bright because it was the only color I’ve ever known.

I slept with my sorrow And felt like a whore in the morning, But it never stopped me from fucking. I indulged in the negative thoughts, The memories of my past And the sensation of my hurt. I remembered everything, For I lived in my mind. I never visited happiness Because I never left my home.

Depression.

For the people who have become so familiar with depression that they now consider it home. I’m sorry and I love you.


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©2018 by The Author J. Smith