deep melancholy
you sink beneath my skin, a hypodermic—
slow, patient, and drawn out
i loll beneath the weight of your poison—
or your passion—
your injection of apathy
and easier answers
nothing dulls your pull
i swim against your gravity
and always fall into lapses of down
where, with slow strokes,
i coax the blues into deep melancholy
and pick old wounds until depression
flows freely from the scabs