A meditation on loss and depression

Sometimes the demons speak louder than mornings over coffee
I am doing the tango with unseen shadows
choking on loose strings of conversations
violently hoping that the ball in my throat will silence
my screaming eyes before you notice the windows rattling

My heart sits precariously on the edge of my collarbone
exposed, it is easily disrupted from its task of blood pumping
instead it waits to consume the words that hang unsaid
in the space between us and them

I still think about this whenever the tears knock at the back of my eyes
and my fingers knot my rings around my knuckles
I wish it was that simple