It is the
great nothing. It has no
pulse. It has
no bounds. It has no single
source. It is the destructor with no
jugular.
While depressed one might catch a glimpse of the edge of this great nothing, but it will be dashing around a corner, mocking you. It will leave a trail of laughter echoes, like glass breaking in your heart (oh wait, that was your heart!) If you try to catch it you might pass your hand through it’s shadow. This will sting.
You never really get a chance to wring its’ neck because while it is there it plays tricks on you. It pretends to be the thing it knows you won’t look at. It hides in places you won’t have the energy to poke around in.
And when it is gone, you will be so fuckin’ relieved that you will want to think it was all an elaborate hoax. You won’t invite the thing to tea to ask about motives because then you would have to hang out with it some more. Instead you forget all about it.
Then, one day you fall asleep with the windows open and it creeps in, a funk in the periphery. You will just lie there in your bed, under the blankets with the lights off, while the sneaky little devil freaks out all your friends, swallows up your cash flow and erodes your faith in the future, AGAIN.