Depression is a choice.

A.B. CURTISS, Depression Is a Choice


it is a dark angry circle on the sun
a hole
filled with nothing
but dread
and Prozac

too flimsy to hold anything but

a window with its blinds
shut                       tight
on a bright autumn day

from the inside out,
a sudden winter storm of
suffocating ash-colored snow
leaving deep drifts of black guilt
against new fences
at sunrise

                        friendly fire
against an army of one
on a fictitious battlefield
more real than the chair
in which you sit reading
in judgment
your eyes loudly cheering
for the other side


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