It’s Bad Again.

A stranger in the mirror looks me dead in the eye.  It’s bad again. The drawn face stares back at me.

“its bad again, it’s bad again, it’s bad again”

Relentless.

The monotonous phrase bores a hole in my skull 

the cryptic tone echos as a pale face stares back at me, expressionless.  

Black eyes outlined by a slim crescent of green sit still.

There’s no sparkle.

No reflections, no glimmer.

No sign of the liveliness they once had many years prior.  

I know it’s getting bad.  I don’t need to be reminded. 

I can see it.  I can feel it. 

A dark room beckons me, quietly drawing me in while pulling me away.  

I know it’s bad again,

But I can’t help but give in. 

Blackness encompasses me

Perhaps it’s the dark that soothes me.  Perhaps the silence is what draws me back time and time again. 

A temporary space for my eyes to relax,

to soak in the darkness. 

But I hate the dark.

I hate the cat under the bed that scratches me constantly.  Painting maroon lines on my skin in spite of It’s sweet, innocent face. 

I know it’s getting bad

When the rivers dry, exposing their rusted banks.

I know it’s getting bad when the sky darkens, when the animals flee.

I know it’s getting bad when

time seems to last forever,

but pass by too quickly.

I hate that I’m sick.

and above all, I hate that it’s getting bad again.