You could not convince the algae to
disentangle from my already kinked naps.
1:19am and I am still picking the fronds out,
as if to say
Yes, but you weathered the storm, didn’t you?
Sure, the jagged cut burns every time
You furrow your left brow.
But at least the jagged cut burns.
Am I right?
Somewhere between a punchline and a gut-punch,
My survival lays in wait for its next reckoning.
ABOUT: my chronic clinical depression
