Deppressions Lense

Kariann Young

You loom. Pitch

black, floating.

Leave it all

behind. You don’t feel

it anyway.

You injected Novocain

into my occipital lobe. Muting

the colors of happiness

and sorrow.

Come with me. I

can numb the pain.

Just like you clouded

my emotions. You’re the downer

that puts the pharmacy stuff to shame.

I will take care of

you. But only after.

I miss the blue

of my cat’s eyes.

The green of the cover

under the scribbles on my notebook.

The red of a cardinal from a dead

family member stopping in to check on me.

The bottom of the

pool settles blue.

The grass at the building’s

base grows green.

The blood on your razor

will corrode the metal red.

The quilting buries

my face. But you loom.