He way you smell
is the same way depression
felt the first time I wore it.
It is a cloaking type of warmth,
a tender numbness,
like hot chocolate in winter.
It makes me tired, and completely relaxed,
And I no longer want to do anything.
It isn’t laziness,
I am simply just content in
my silent and still existence.
Arms are wrapped around me,
and my nose is buried into a neck.
I take in a deep breath of a half-metaphor.
I am not sad. I am happy.
That’s the hardest part to admit.
Depression is funny like that,
But so is love I guess.
Tags:
POETRY