Prodigal Sum

I feel his hand on mine
Cold
Distant
Comforting

The sky darkens
I note his shadow
Entangled in me
Slowly taking on definition

The tremors in my mind
Fade to a murmured Chitter
My pulse slows
As fears are forcibly displaced

I refuse to tarry on the implication
Merely take position
Extracting pen and pad
Embalming this moment with ink

These are not thoughts of pleasure
Nor of enduring happiness
Rather
These are the thought of normalcy
My normalcy
The ennui of despondent dignity
Are left to fend for themselves

The scratching sound
As I faithfully play the scribe
Harmonise
Bringing for the maladies
Of my inertia

My right hand
Insulted by the attention the left is getting
Twitches
Fingers drawing into a clawed posture

Oh
I see it
I know what is to come
But still
My left hand scribbles away
As his shadow firms in appearance

Aaah
There you are

Depression my old friend

© 2012, Mosquitobyte