Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

She rises from bed and stares
out the window. Another day.
No new horizons. Why do
people talk such crap, she muses,

senses the hangover bite in.
He said it was just a sex thing,
no strings, see what a new
tomorrow brings. Her mother

had this thing about what the
neighbours said, how things
looked from another’s perspective.
There is a damp patch where

her hand has touched, blood,
bright red. She sees him or rather
his outline in the dark of the night
before. All ten minutes of excitement,

a two-bit joy. Her hand runs over
the patch, feels the stickiness.
Depression digs in its feet, plunges
in its dark claws, rips through her

sense of being, sees the outside
city, no real care, no pity, just what
is she seeing? Shadows and outlines,
people, cars, streets, sun, clouds,

business out there. She wants her
mother back, the loss of all those
years ago, lingering in the back of
her mind and center of her heart.

Depression and the black dog tear
All things and love and life apart.

people- mmm are just people-
but the beauty of this moment is quite sensual- tinges of introspection=and shame- but not her s= her mamas
the perspective is somewhat - confusing- who is the black dog?
perhaps it is the mother
mis shappen and unhappy- longing to be loved-? or is the daughter acting out the secret yearnings of the mother? just some directions between the lines- between the silky skins
lovely moments-

Thank you, creativesoul. Depression in general is there, but black dog is Her depression in particular who comes when it will and will turn her over and gnaw at her life and love and dreams. Is this clinical depression? who knows; she probably doesn't.