This looks familiar, this feels familiar.
Familiarity and repetition are the bane of a depressive.
Like your fingertips swirling in the dull rank water,
But when there’s no change
But the slow shifting of time
[when yesterday turns to today]
That’s just the gradual meandering drag of the river
Pulling us along
As if a rotten carcass catching on the reeds.
The water might be cold or warmer
But its path remains constant,
It will find the sea.
Children come to prod it with their sticks as it passes
Close to the bank,
And river-men may stare forlornly in its wake
Wondering how it came to be
There in the river,
But dare not think too hard about where it’s headed
For they know that their own sad course is decided,
There in the river.
That is the one truth that binds their minds
But for a moment
To the floating corpse,
And as it turns upwards in the water
They catch their own reflection in its dulled eyes.
They stop their talking but for a moment,
Filled with morbid thoughts
They are frozen
Until the dreaded body moves on.